eir  Struggles, 


BY 


O.  K.  KULLER,  A.  M., 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  YEAR  OF  CHRIST,"  AND  "  IDEALS  OF  LIFE. 


llustrated. 


"Find  out  what  you  are  fitted  for ;   work  hard  at  that  one  thing,  and  keep 
a  brave,  honest  heart." 


CHICAGO,  ILL. 


PUBLISHERS. 


EMPORIA,  KANSAS. 


1886. 


-- 


COPYRIGHT 
By  0.  E.  FULLER, 

1884. 


All  rights  reserved. 


4 

OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


KPREFRCE.J 


TRUGGLE,  failure,  triumph :  while  triumph  is  the 
thing  sought,  struggle  has  its  joy,  and  failure  is  not 
without  its  uses. 

"It    is   not  the  goal"  says   Jean   Paul,  "but  the 
course  which   makes   us  happy."     The  law  of  life   is 

what  a  great  orator  affirmed  of  oratory — "  Action,  action, 
action !"  As  soon  as  one  point  is  gained,  another,  and 
another  presents  itself. 

"  It  is  a  mistake,"  says  Samuel  Smiles,  "  to  suppose  that 
men  succeed  through  success;  they  much  oftener  succeed 
through  failure."  He  cites,  among  others,  the  example  of 
Cowper,  who,  through  his  diffidence  and  shyness,  broke 
down  when  pleading  his  first  cause,  and  lived  to  revive  the 
poetic  art  in  England ;  and  that  of  Goldsmith,  who  failed 
in  passing  as  a  surgeon,  and  yet  wrote  the  "  Deserted  Vil- 
lage" and  the  "Vicar  of  "Wakefield."  Even  when  one 
turns  to  no  new  course,  how  many  failures,  as  a  rule,  mark 
the  way  to  triumph,  and  brand  into  life,  as  with  a  hot  iron, 
the  lessons  of  defeat ! 

The  brave  man  or  the  brave  woman  is  one  who  looks 
life  in  the  eye,  and  says :  "  God  helping  me,  I  am  going  to 


2129464 


4  PREFACE. 

realize  the  best  possibilities  of  my  nature,  by  calling  into 
action  the  beneficent  laws  which  govern  and  determine  the 
development  of  each  individual  member  of  the  race."  And 
the  failures  of  such  a  person  are  the  jewels  of  triumph; 
that  triumph  which  is  certain  in  the  sight  of  heaven,  if  not 
in  the  eyes  of  men. 

"  Brave  Men  and  Women,"  the  title  of  this  volume,  is 
used  in  a  double  sense,  as  referring  not  only  to  those  whose 
words  and  deeds  are  here  recorded,  or  cited  as  examples, 
but  also  to  all  who  read  the  book,  and  are  striving  after 
the  riches  of  character. 

Some  of  the  sketches  and  short  papers  are  anonymous, 
and  have  been  adapted  for  use  in  these  pages.  Where  the 
authorship  is  known,  and  the  productions  have  been  given 
verbatim,  the  source,  if  not  the  pen  of  the  editor,  has  been 
indicated.  Thanks  are  due  to  the  press,  and  to  those  who 
have  permitted  the  use  of  copyrighted  matter. 

In  conclusion,  the  editor  lays  little  claim  to  originality — 
save  in  the  metrical  pieces,  and  in  the  use  he  has  made  of 
material.  His  aim  has  simply  been  to  form  a  sort  of  mosaic 
or  variegated  picture  of  the  Brave  Life — the  life  which 
recognizes  the  Divine  Goodnesss  in  all  things,  striving 
through  good  report  and  evil  report,  and  in  manifold  ways, 
which  one  is  often  unqualified  to  judge,  to  attain  to  the  life 
of  Him  who  is  "  the  light  of  the  world." 

YPSILANTI,  MICH.,  October,  1884. 


mm  EN  S.J 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE. 
Benjamin  Franklin. — His  FAME  STILL  CLIMBING  TO  HEAVEN — 

WHAT  HE  HAD  DONE  AT  FIFTY-TWO — POOR  RICHARD'S  ADDRESS,    13 

CHAPTER  II. 

Defence  of  a  Great  Man. — WAS  DR.  FRANKLIN  MEAN  ? — JAMBS 
PARTON'S  ANSWER, 23 

CHAPTER  III. 

Sir  'Walter  Scott  and  his  Mother. — THE  MOTHER'S  EDUCA- 
TION—THE SON'S  TRAINING — DOMESTIC  LOVE  AND  SOCIAL  DUTIES,  30 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Abigail  Adams. — THE  WIFE  OF  OUR  SECOND  PRESIDENT — THE 
MOTHER  OF  OUR  SIXTH, 38 

CHAPTER  V. 
Two  Neighbors. — WHAT  THEY  GOT  OUT  OF  LIFE, 49 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Horace  Greeley. — THE  MOLDER  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION — THE  BRAVE 
JOURNALIST, 57 

CHAPTER  VII. 

"Wendell  Phillips. — THE  TIMES  WHEN  HE  APPEARED — "Wno  is 
THIS  FELLOW?" — A  FLAMING  ADVOCATE  OF  LIBERTY — LIBERTY  OF 
SPEECH  AND  THOUGHT — POWER  TO  DISCERN  THE  RIGHT — THE 

MOB-BEATEN  HERO  TRIUMPHANT, 65 

5 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE. 
Mary  "Wordsworth. — THE  KINDLY  WIFE  OF  THE  GREAT  POET,    75 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Madame  Malibran. — HER  CAREER  AS  A  SINGER — KINDNESS  OF 
HEART, 82 

CHAPTER  X. 

G-arfleld  Maxims. — GATHERED  FROM  HIS  SPEECHES,  ADDRESSES, 
LETTERS,  ETC., 87 

CHAPTER  XI. 

What  I  Carried  to  College. — A  REMINISCENCE  AT  FORTY — 
PICTURES  OF  RURAL  LIFE, 91 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Sir  John  Franklin. — HEROISM  ON  THE  GREAT  DEEP — A  MARTYR 
OF  THE  POLAR  SEA, 96 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Elizabeth  Estaugh. — A  QUAKER  COURTSHIP  IN  WHICH  SHE  WAS 
THE  PRINCIPAL  ACTOR, 102 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Chinese"  Gordon. — IN  THE  TRENCHES  OF  THE  CRIMEA — PUTS 
DOWN  THE  GREAT  TAIPING  REBELLION  IN  CHINA,  IN  1863-4 — • 
HERO  OF  THE  SOUDAN — BEARDS  THE  MEN-STEALERS  IN  THEIR 
STRONGHOLDS  AND  MAKES  THE  PEOPLE  LOVE  HIM, 113 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Men's  "Wives. — BITS  OF  COMMON  SENSE  AND  WISDOM  ON  A  GREAT 
SUBJECT, 123 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Women's  Husbands. — WHAT  THE  "  BREAD-WINNERS  "  LIKE  IN 
THEIR  WIVES — A  LITTLE  CONSTITUTIONAL  OPPOSITION, 131 


CONTENTS.  " 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

PAGE. 

John  Ploughman. — WHAT  HE   SAYS  ABOUT  RELIGIOUS   GRUM- 
BLERS— GOOD  NATURE  AND  FIRMNESS,  ETC., 140 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Caroline  Lueretia   Herschel.  —  A    NOBLE,    SELF-SACRIFICING 
WOMAN, 154 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Pestiferous  Literature. — THE  PRINTING  PRESS — THE  FLOOD  OF 
IMPURE  AND  LOATHSOME  LITERATURE,  ETC., 161 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Satisfied. — AND  OTHER  POEMS, 173 

CHAPTER  XXL 

Heroes  of  Science. — MICHAEL  FARADAY — SIR  WILLIAM  SIEMENS — 
M.  PASTEUR, 179 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

My  Uncle  Toby. — ONE  OF  THE   BEAUTIFUL  CREATIONS  OF   A 
GREAT  GENIUS, 189 

CHAPTER  XXHI. 

Stephen   Girard. — THE  NAPOLEON   OF    MERCHANTS— His  LIFE 
SUCCESSFUL,  AND  YET  A  FAILURE, 200 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Disappointments. — PLEASURE  AFTER  PAIN — PAIN  AFTER  PLEASURE  213 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Three  Kings. — AN  OLD  STORY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT  .  .   .  .    •  221 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Florence  Nightingale. — THE  HEROINE  OF  THE  CRIMEA,  ....    228 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PAGE, 

Shy  People. — HAWTHORNE — WASHINGTON,  IRVING,  AND  OTHERS — 
MADAME  RECAMIEK, 237 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

John  Marshall.— IN  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  ARMY — His  MARRIAGE — 
LAW  LECTURES — AT  THE  BAR — His  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS — ON 
THE  BENCH, 245 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  Noble  Mother. — How  SHE  TRAINED  HERSELF,  AND  EDUCATED 
HER  BOYS, 256 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Care  of  the  Body. — WHAT  DR.  SARGENT,  OP  THE  HARVARD 
GYMNASIUM,  SAYS  ABOUT  IT — POINTS  FOR  PARENTS,  TEACHERS, 
AND  PUPILS, 264 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Saint  Cecilia. — THE  PATRONESS  OF  Music — MYTHS  CONCERNING 
THE  ORIGIN  OF  Music — ITS  RELATION  TO  WORK  AND  BLESSEDNESS,  271 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
Thomas  De  Quincey. — A  LIFE  OF  WONDER  AND  WARNING,  .   .    279 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
A  Vision  of  Time.— NEW  YEAR'S  EVE, 288 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
John  Bunyan. — FROM  DARKNESS  TO  LIGHT, 292 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Madame  Roland. — THE  MOST  REMARKABLE  WOMAN  OP  THE 
FRENCH  REVOLUTION — THE  IPHIGEMA  OF  FRANCE, 309 


CONTENTS  9 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

PAGE. 

Cheerful  and  Brave. — THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON — SIR  WALTER 
RALEIGH — XENOPHON — C^SAR — NELSON,  ETC., 338 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Harold. — THE  LAST  SAXON  KING  OF  ENGLAND, .    347 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Peter  Cooper. — THE  LESSONS  OF  A  LONG  AND  USEFUL  LIFE,  .   .    351 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Illusions. — "THEREFORE  TRUST  TO  THY  HEART  AND  WHAT  THE 
WORLD  CALLS  ILLUSIONS," 361 

CHAPTER  XL. 
Phillips  Brooks.— At  Home, 368 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
St.  John  and  the  Robber. — A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CENTURY,  373 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

John  Ploughman  Again. — THE  PITH  AND  MARROW  OF  CERTAIN 
OLD  PROVERBS, 379 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Henry  "Wilson. — FROM  THE  SHOEMAKER'S  BENCH  TO  THE  CHAIR 
OF  VICE-PRESIDENT, 392 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Joan  of  Arc. — THE  PEASANT  MAIDEN  WHO  DELIVERED  HER  COUN- 
TRY AND  BECAME  A  MARTYR  IN  ITS  CAUSE, 398 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
The  Song  of  Work. — MANY  PHASES  AND  MANY  EXAMPLES,  .  .  416 


10  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

PAGE. 

Alvan  S.  South-worth. — CROSSING  THE  NUBIAN  DESERT,  .  .  .    436 

CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A  Forbidden  Topic. — WHICH  SOME  PEOPLE  PERSIST  IN  INTRO- 
DUCING,   • 442 

CHAPTER  XL VIII. 
Ida  Lewis  "Wilson. — THE  GRACE  DARLING  OP  AMERICA,  ....    447 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
Rachel  Jackson. — THE  WIFE  OF  OUR  SEVENTH  PRESIDENT,  .   .   .    452 

CHAPTER  L. 
Discontented  Girls. — ONE  PANACEA  FOR  THEM — AND  ONE  REFUGE,  462 

CHAPTER  LI. 
The  Voice  in  Raman. — •'  RACHEL  WEEPING  FOK  HER  CHILDREN, 

AND  WOULD    NOT   BE   COMFORTED   BECAUSE   THEY   WERE   NOT,"  .     .     466 

CHAPTER  LII. 

La  Fayette. — THE  FRIEND  AND  DEFENDER  OP  LIBERTY  ON  Two 
CONTINENTS, •    .    470 

CHAPTER  LIII. 

Lydia  Sigourney — THE  LESSON  OP  A  USEFUL  AND  BEAUTIFUL 
LIFE, 483 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

Old  Age  and  Usefulness.— THE  GLORY  OF  BRAVE  MEN  AND 
WOMEN 490 

CHAPTER  LV. 
Rhymes  and  Chimes. — SUITABLE  FOR  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUMS,  .   .    498 


^^*fe?<$ 


Bl^AVB   CQEN   AND   Q30MBN. 


I. 


(BORN  1706 — DIED  1790.) 

HIS  FAME  STILL  CLIMBING  TO  HEAVEN— WHAT  HE  HAD  DONE  AT 
FIFTY-TWO—POOR  RICHARD'S  ADDRESS. 


HE  late  Judge  Black  was  remarkable  not  only 
for  his  wit  and  humor,  which  often  enlivened  the 
dry  logic  of  law  and  fact,  but  also  for  flashes  of 
unique  eloquence.  In  presenting  a  certain  brief 
before  the  United  States  Supreme  Court  he  had  occasion  to 
animadvert  upon  some  of  our  great  men.  Among  other 
things  he  said,  as  related  to  the  writer  by  one  who  heard 
him  :  "  The  colossal  name  of  Washington  is  growing  year 
by  year,  and  the  fame  of  Franklin  is  still  climbing  to  heaven" 
accompanying  the  latter  words  by  such  a  movement  of  his 
right  hand  that  not  one  of  his  hearers  failed  to  see  the  im- 
mortal kite  quietly  bearing  the  philosopher's  question  to  the 
clouds.  It  was  a  point  which  delivered  the  answer.  In  the 
life  of  every  great  man  there  is  likewise  a  point  which  de- 
livers the  special  message  which  he  was  born  to  publish  to 
the  world.  Biography  is  greatly  simplified  when  it  confines 

itself  chiefly  to  that  one  point.     What  does  the  reader,  who 

11 


12  .       BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

has  his  own  work  to  do,  care  for  a  great  multitude  of  details 
which  are  not  needed  for  the  setting  of  the  picture?  To 
the  point  is  the  cry  of  our  busy  life. 

Benjamin  Franklin  is  here  introduced  to  the  reader 

AT  FIFTY-TWO. 

"What  had  he  done  at  that  age  to  command  more  than 
ordinary  respect  and  admiration? 

I.  Born  in  poverty  and  obscurity,  in  which  he  passed  his 
early  years;  with  no  advantages  of  education  in  the  schools  of 
his  day,  after  he  entered  his  teens ;  under  the  condition  of  daily 
toil  for  his  bread;  he  had  carried  on,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles, 
the  process  of  self-education   through  books   and  observa- 
tion, and  become  in  literature  and  science,  as  well  as  in  the 
practical  affairs  of  e very-day  life,  the  best  informed  man  in 
America. 

II.  Apprenticed    to  a    printer  in  his  native  Boston,  at 
thirteen;  a  journeyman  in  Philadelphia  at  seventeen;  work- 
ing at  the  case  in  London  at  nineteen;  back  to  the  Quaker 
City,  and  set  up  for  himself  at  twenty -six;   he  had   long 
since  mastered  all  the  details  of  a  great  business,  prepared 
to  put  his  hand  to  any  thing,  from  the  trundling  of  paper 
through   the  streets  on  a  wheel-barrow  to  the  writing  of 
editorials  and  pamphlets,  and  had  earned  for  himself  a  po- 
sition as  the  most  prosperous  printer  and  publisher  in  the 
colonies. 

III.  Retired  from  active  business  at  forty-six,  considering 
that  he  had  already  earned  and  saved  enough  to  supply  his  * 
reasonable  wants  for  the  rest  of  his  life ;  fired  with  ambition 
to  do  something  for  the  advancement  of  science ;  he  had  now 
for  six  years  given  himself  to  philosophical  investigation  and 
experiment,  among   other  things   demonstrated  the  identity 
of  electricity  as  produced  by  artificial  means  and  atmospheric 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  13 

lightning,  and  made  himself  a  name  throughout  the  civilized 
world. 

IV.  Besides,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  he  had  all  along 
been  foremost  in  many  a  work  for  the  public  good.     The 
Franklin  Library,  of  Philadelphia,  owes  to  him  its  origin. 
The  University  of  Pennsylvania  grew  out  of  an  educational , 
project  in  which  he  was  a  prime  mover.     And  his  ideas  as  to 
the  relative  importance  of  ancient  and  modern  classics  were 
more  than  a  hundred  years  in  advance  of  his  times. 

Such  is  a  glimpse  of  Franklin  at  fifty-two,  as  preliminary 
to  a  single  episode  which  will  occupy  the  rest  of  this  chapter. 
But  the  episode  itself  requires  a  special  word. 

V.  For  a  quarter  of  a  century  Franklin  had  published  an 
almanac  under  the  pseudonym  of  Richard  Saunders,  into  the 
pages  of  which  he  crowded  year  by  year  choice  scraps  of  wit 
and  wisdom,  which  made  the  little  hand-book  a  welcome  visitor 
in  almost  every  home  of  the  New  World.     Now  in  the  midst 
of  those  philosophical  studies  which  so  much  delighted  him, 
when  about  to  cross  the  Atlantic  as  a  commissioner  to  the 
Home  Government,  he  found  time  to  gather  up  the  maxims 
and  quaint  sayings  of  twenty-five  years  and  set  them  in  a  won- 
derful mosaic,  as  the  preface  of  Poor  Richard's  world-famous 
almanac — as  unique  a  piece  of  writing  as  any  language  affords. 
Here  it  is : 

POOR  RICHARD'S   ADDRESS. 

Courteous  Reader:  I  have  heard  that  nothing  gives  an 
author  so  great  pleasure  as  to  find  his  works  respectfully 
quoted  by  others.  Judge,  then,  how  much  I  must  have  been 
gratified  by  an  incident  I  am  going  to  relate  to  you.  I  stopped 
my  horse  lately  where  a  great  company  of  people  were  col- 
lected at  an  auction  of  merchants'  goods.  The  hour  of  the 
sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing  on  the  badness  of 


14  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  times;  and  one  of  the  company  called  to  a  plain,  clean 
old  man,  with  white  locks,  "Pray,  Father  Abraham,  what 
think  you  of  the  times?  Will  not  those  heavy  taxes  quite 
ruin  the  country  ?  How  shall  we  ever  be  able  to  pay  them  ? 
What  would  you  advise  us  to  do  ?"  Father  Abraham  stood 
up  and  replied,  "  If  you  would  have  my  advice,  I  will  give 
it  you  in  short ;  *  for  a.  word  to  the  wise  is  enough/  as  Poor 
Richard  says."  They  joined  in  desiring  him  to  speak  his 
mind,  and  gathering  around  him,  he  proceeded  as  follows: — 

"Friends,"  says  he,  "the  taxes  are  indeed  very  heavy; 
and  if  those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only  ones 
we  had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them ;  but  we 
have  many  others,  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us. 
We  are  taxed  twice  as  much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as 
much  by  our  pride,  and  four  times  as  much  by  our  folly ;  and 
from  these  taxes  the  commissioners  can  not  ease  or  deliver  us 
by  allowing  an  abatement.  However,  let  us  hearken  to  good 
advice,  and  something  may  be  done  for  us;  'God  helps  them 
that  help  themselves/  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"  I.  It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should 
tax  its  people  one-tenth  of  their  time  to  be  employed  in  its 
service,  but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more :  sloth,  by 
bringing  on  disease,  absolutely  shortens  life.  'Sloth,  like 
rust,  consumes  faster  than  labor  wears,  while  the  used  key  is 
always  bright/  as  Poor  Richard  says.  'But  dost  thou  love 
life,  then  do  not  squander  time,  for  that  is  the  stuff  life  is 
made  of/  as  Poor  Richard  says.  How  much  more  than  is 
necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep!  forgetting  that  the  sleeping 
fox  catches  no  poultry,  and  that  there  will  be  sleeping  enough 
in  the  grave/  as  Poor  Richard  says.  ( If  time  be  of  all  things 
the  most  precious,  wasting  time  must  be/  as  Poor  Richard 
says,  '  the  greatest  prodigality  /  since  as  he  elsewhere  tell  us, 
'  Lost  time  is  never  found  again ;  and  what  we  call  time  enough 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  15 

always  proves  little  enough.'  Let  us  then  up  and  be  doing, 
and  doing  to  the  purpose,  so  by  diligence  shall  we  do  more 
with  less  perplexity.  '  Sloth  makes  all  things  difficult,  but 
industry  all  easy,  and  he  that  riseth  late  must  trot  all  day, 
and  shall  scarce  overtake  his  business  at  night ;  while  laziness 
travels  so  slowly,  that  poverty  soon  overtakes  him.  Drive 
thy  business,  let  not  that  drive  thee ;  and  early  to  bed,  and 
early  to  rise,  makes  a  man  healthy,  wealthy  and  wise,'  as  Poor 
Richard  says. 

"  So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times  ? 
We  may  make  these  times  better  if  we  bestir  ourselves. 
'  Industry  need  not  wish,  and  he  that  lives  upon  hope  will  die 
fasting.  There  are  no  gains  without  pains ;  then  help  hands, 
for  I  have  no  lands,'  or  if  I  have  they  are  smartly  taxed. 
*  He  that  hath  a  trade,  hath  an  estate ;  and  he  that  hath  a 
calling,  hath  an  office  of  profit  and  honor,'  as  Poor  Richard 
says ;  but  then  the  trade  must  be  worked  at,  and  the  calling 
well  followed,  or  neither  the  estate  nor  the  office  will  enable 
us  to  pay  our  taxes.  If  we  are  industrious  we  shall  never 
starve ;  for  '  at  the  workingman's  house  hunger  looks  in,  but 
dares  not  enter.'  Nor  will  the  bailiff -or  the  constable  enter, 
for  'industry  pays  debts,  while  despair  increaseth  them.' 
What  though  you  have  found  no  treasure,  nor  has  any  rich 
relation  left  a  legacy ;  '  Diligence  is  the  mother  of  good  luck, 
and  God  gives  all  things  to  industry.  Then  plow  deep, 
while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall  have  corn  to  sell  and  to 
keep.'  Work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  for  you  know  not  how 
much  you  may  be  hindered  to-morrow.  '  One  to-day  is  worth 
two  to-morrows,'  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  farther,  '  Never 
leave  that  till  to-morrow  which  you  can  do  to-day.'  If  you 
were  a  servant,  would  you  not  be  ashamed  that  a  good  master 
should  catch  you  idle  ?  Are  you  then  your  own  master?  Be 
ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle,  when  there  is  so  much  to  be 


16  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

done  for  yourself,  your  family,  your  country,  and  your  king. 
Handle  your  tools  without  mittens ;  remember,  that  '  the  cat 
in  gloves  catches  no  mice/  as  Poor  Richard  says.  It  is  true 
there  is  much  to  be  done,  and,  perhaps,  you  are  weak- 
handed;  but  stick  to  it  steadily,  and  you  will  see  great  effects; 
for,  '  Constant  dropping  wears  away  stones ;  and  by  diligence 
and  patience  the  mouse  ate  in  two  the  cable ;  and  little  strokes 
fell  great  oaks.' 

"Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  'Must  a  man  afford 
himself  no  leisure?'  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  Poor 
Richard  says :  '  Employ  thy  time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to 
gain  leisure ;  and,  since  thou  art  not  sure  of  a  minute,  throw 
not  away  an  hour.'  Leisure  is  time  for  doing  something  use- 
ful ;  this  leisure  the  diligent  man  will  obtain,  but  the  lazy  man 
never;  for  '  A  life  of  leisure  and  a  life  of  laziness  are  two 
things.  Many,  without  labor,  would  live  by  their  wits  only, 
but  they  break  for  want  of  stock;'  whereas  industry  gives 
comfort,  and  plenty,  and  respect.  'Fly  pleasures,  and  they 
will  follow  you.  The  diligent  spinner  has  a  large  shift ;  and 
now  I  have  a  sheep  and  a  cow,  every  body  bids  me  good 
morrow.' 

"II.  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady, 
settled,  and  careful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs  with  our  own 
eyes,  and  not  trust  too  much  to  others,  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says, 

" '  I  never  saw  an  oft  removed  tree, 
Nor  yet  an  oft  removed  family, 
That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  be.' 

"  And  again,  '  three  removes  is  as  bad  as  a  fire ;'  and  again, 
'  Keep  thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee ;'  and  again,  l  If 
you  would  have  your  business  done,  go ;  if  not,  send ;'  and 
again, 

"  '  He  that  by  the  plow  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive.' 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  17 

And  again,  'the  eye  of  the  master  will  do  more  work  than 
both  his  hands;'  and  again,  'Want  of  care  does  us  more 
damage  than  want  of  knowledge;'  and  again,  'Not  to  oversee 
workmen  is  to  leave  them  your  purse  open.'  Trusting  too 
much  to  others'  care  is  the  ruin  of  many;  for,  'In  the  affairs 
of  this  world,  men  are  saved,  not  by  faith,  but  by  the  want  of 
it ;  but  a  man's  own  care  is  profitable,  for,  '  If  you  would  have 
a  faithful  servant,  and  one  that  you  like,  serve  yourself.  A 
little  neglect  may  breed  great  mischief;  for  want  of  a  nail  the 
shoe  was  lost ;  for  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost ;  and  for 
want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost,'  being  overtaken  and  slain 
by  the  enemy;  all  for  want  of  a  little  care  about  a  horse- 
shoe nail. 

"  III.  So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to 
one's  own  business ;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,  if  we 
would  make  our  industry  more  certainly  successful.  A  man 
may,  if  he  knows  not  how  to  save  as  he  gets,  '  keep  his  nose 
all  his  life  to  the  grindstone,  and  die  not  worth  a  groat  at 
last.  A  fat  kitchen  makes  a  lean  will ;'  and 

"  '  Many  estates  are  spent  in  the  getting, 

Since  women  for  tea  forsook  spinning  and  knitting, 
And  men  for  punch  forsook  hewing  and  splitting.' 

'If  you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving,  as  well  as  of 
getting.  The  Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich,  because  her 
outgoes  are  greater  than  her  incomes.' 

"  Away  then  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not 
then  have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavy 
taxes,  and  chargeable  families;  for 

"  '  Women  and  wine,  game  and  deceit, 

Make  the  wealth  small,  and  the  want  great.' 

And  farther,  '  What  maintains  one  vice  would  bring  up  two 
children.'  You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea,  or  a 
little  punch  now  and  then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes 


18  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

a  little  finer,  and  a  little  entertainment  now  and  then,  can  be 
no  great  matter ;  but  remember,  '  Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle/ 
Beware  of  little  expenses.  'A  small  leak  will  sink  a  great 
ship,'  as  Poor  Richard  says;  and  again,  'Who  dainties  love, 
shall  beggars  prove /  and  moreover,  '  Fools  make  feasts,  and 
wise  men  eat  them/  Here  you  are  all  got  together  to  this 
sale  of  fineries  and  knickknacks.  You  call  them  goods,  but, 
if  you  do  not  take  care,  they  will  prove  evils  to  some  of  you. 
You  expect  they  will  be  sold  cheap,  and  perhaps  they  may, 
for  less  than  they  cost ;  but  if  you  have  no  occasion  for  them, 
they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Remember  what  Poor  Richard 
says,  '  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  need  of,  and  erelong  thou  shalt 
sell  thy  necessaries/  And  again,  '  At  a  great  pennyworth 
pause  awhile /  he  means,  that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is  appar- 
ent only,  and  not  real ;  or  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in 
thy  business,  may  do  thee  more  harm  than  good.  For  in 
another  place  he  says,  l  Many  have  been  ruined  by  buying 
good  pennyworths/  Again,  'It  is  foolish  to  lay  out  money 
in  a  purchase  of  repentance /  and  yet  this  folly  is  practiced 
every  day  at  auctions,  for  want  of  minding  the  almanac. 
Many  a  one,  for  the  sake  of  finery  on  the  back,  have  gone 
with  a  hungry  belly,  and  half  starved  their  families;  'Silks 
and  satins,  scarlet  and  velvets,  put  out  the  kitchen  fire/  as 
Poor  Richard  says.  These  are  not  the  necessaries  of  life; 
they  can  scarcely  be  called  the  conveniences;  and  yet,  only 
because  they  look  pretty,  how  many  want  to  have  them  ?  By 
these  and  other  extravagances,  the  greatest  are  reduced  to 
poverty,  and  forced  to  borrow  ot  those  whom  they  formerly 
despised,  but  who,  through  industry  and  frugality,  have  main- 
tained their  standing ;  in  which  case  it  appears  plainly,  that 
'  A  plowman  on  his  legs  is  higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his 
knees/  as  Poor  Richard  says.  Perhaps  they  have  had  a  small 
estate  left  them,  which  they  knew  not  the  getting  of;  they 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  19 

think  '  It  is  day,  and  will  never  be  night ;'  that  a  little  to  be 
spent  out  of  so  much  is  not  worth  minding ;  but  (  Always 
taking  out  of  the  meal-tub,  and  never  putting  in,  soon  comes 
to  the  bottom/  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  then,  (  When  the 
well  is  dry,  they  know  the  worth  of  water.'  But  this  they 
might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken  his  advice.  '  If 
you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go  and  try  to  borrow 
some;  for  he  that  goes  a  borrowing,  goes  a  sorrowing,'  as 
Poor  Richard  says ;  and,  indeed,  so  does  he  that  lends  to  such 
people,  when  he  goes  to  get  it  in  again.  Poor  Dick  farther 
advises,  and  says, 

" '  Fond  pride  of  dress  is  sure  a  very  curse ; 
Ere  fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  purse.' 

And  again, c  Pride  is  as  loud  a  beggar  as  Want,  and  a  great 
deal  more  saucy.'  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  thing, 
you  must  buy  ten  more,  that  your  appearance  may  be  all  of 
a  piece ;  but  Poor  Dick  says,  '  It  is  easier  to  siippress  the 
first  desire,  than  to  satisfy  all  that  follow  it.'  And  it  is  as 
truly  folly  for  the  poor  to  ape  the  rich,  as  for  the  frog  to 
swell  in  order  to  equal  the  ox. 

" '  Vessels  large  may  venture  more, 

But  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore.' 

It  is,  however,  a  folly  soon  punished;  for,  as  Poor  Richard 
says,  '  Pride  that  dines  on  vanity,  sups  on  contempt ;  Pride 
breakfasted  with  Plenty,  dined  with  Poverty,  and  supped 
with  Infamy.'  And  after  all,  of  what  use  is  this  pride  of 
appearance,  for  which  so  much  is  risked,  so  much  is  suf- 
fered? It  can  not  promote  health,  nor  ease  pain;  it  makes 
no  increase  of  merit  in  the  person ;  it  creates  envy,  it  hastens 
misfortune. 

"But  what  madness  it  must  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these 
superfluities !     We  are  offered  by  the  terms  of  this  sale  six 


20  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

months'  credit;  and  that,  perhaps,  has  induced  some  of  us 
to  attend  it,  because  we  can  not  spare  the  ready  money,  and 
hope  now  to  be  fine  without  it.  But,  ah !  think  what  you 
do  when  you  run  in  debt;  you  give  to  another  power  over 
your  liberty.  If  you  can  not  pay  at  the  time,  you  will  be 
ashamed  to  see  your  creditor ;  you  will  be  in  fear  when  you 
speak  to  him ;  you  will  make  poor,  pitiful,  sneaking  excuses, 
and,  by  degrees,  come  to  lose  your  veracity,  and  sink  into 
base  downright  lying;  for  'The  second  vice  is  lying,  the  first 
is  running  in  debt/  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  again,  to  the 
same  purpose,  '  Lying  rides  upon  debt's  back ; '  whereas  a 
freeborn  Englishman  ought  not  to  be  ashamed  nor  afraid  to 
see  or  speak  to  any  man  living.  But  poverty  often  deprives 
a  man  of  all  spirit  and  virtue.  '  It  is  hard  for  an  empty  bag 
to  stand  upright.'  What  would  you  think  of  that  prince,  or 
of  that  government,  who  should  issue  an  edict  forbidding  you 
to  dress  like  a  gentleman  or  gentlewoman,  on  pain  of  im- 
prisonment or  servitude  ?  Would  you  not  say  that  you  were 
free,  have  a  right  to  dress  as  you  please,  and  that  such  an 
edict  would  be  a  breach  of  your  privileges,  and  such  a  gov- 
ernment tyrannical?  and  yet  you  are  about  to  put  yourself 
under  that  tyranny  when  you  run  in  debt  for  such  dress! 
Your  creditor  has  authority,  at  his  pleasure,  to  deprive  you 
of  your  liberty,  by  confining  you  in  jail  for  life,  or  by  sell- 
ing you  for  a  servant,  if  you  should  not  be  able  to  pay  him. 
When  you  have  got  your  bargain,  you  may,  perhaps,  think 
little  of  payment ;  but,  as  Poor  Richard  says, '  Creditors  have 
better  memories  than  debtors;  creditors  are  a  superstitious 
sect,  great  observers  of  days  and  times.'  The  day  comes 
round  before  you  are  aware,  and  the  demand  is  made  before 
you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  it ;  or,  if  you  bear  your  debt  in 
mind,  the  term,  which  at  first  seemed  so  long,  will,  as  it  les- 
sens, appear  extremely  short:  Time  will  seem  to  have  added 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  21 

wings  to  his  heels  as  well  as  his  shoulders.  '  Those  have  a 
short  Lent,  who  owe  money  to  be  paid  at  Easter.'  At  pres- 
ent, perhaps,  you  may  think  yourselves  in  thriving  circum- 
stances, and  that  you  can  bear  a  little  extravagance  without 
injury;  but 

" '  For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may, 
No  morning  sun  lasts  a  whole  day.' 

"  Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain ;  but  ever,  while 
you  live,  expense  is  constant  and  certain ;  and  '  It  is  easier 
to  build  two  chimneys  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel/  as  Poor 
Richard  says :  so,  '  Kather  go  to  bed  supperless  than  rise  in 

debt.' 

" '  Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get  hold, 

'Tis  the  stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  gold.' 

And,  when  you  have  got  the  philosopher's  stone,  sure  you 
will  no  longer  complain  of  bad  times,  or  the  difficulty  of 
paying  taxes. 

"  IV.  This  doctrine,  my  friends,  is  reason  and  wisdom ; 
but,  after  all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  in- 
dustry and  frugality  and  prudence,  though  excellent  things ; 
for  they  may  all  be  blasted  without  the  blessing  of  Heaven ; 
and,  therefore,  ask  that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not  unchar- 
itable to  those  that  at  present  seem  to  want  it,  but  comfort 
and  help  them.  Remember  Job  suffered,  and  was  afterwards 
prosperous. 

"  And  now  to  conclude,  '  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school, 
but  fools  will  learn  in  no  other,'  as  Poor  Richard  says,  and 
scarce  in  that ;  for  it  is  true,  '  We  may  give  advice,  but  we 
can  not  give  conduct.'  However,  remember  this,  '  They  that 
will  not  be  counseled,  can  not  be  helped ; '  and  farther,  that, 
1  If  you  will  not  hear  reason,  she  will  surely  rap  your 
knuckles,'  as  Poor  Richard  says." 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.     The  peo- 


22  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

pie  heard  it,  and  approved  the  doctrine,  and  immediately 
practiced  the  contrary,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  common  ser- 
mon ;  for  the  auction  opened,  and  they  began  to  buy  extrav- 
agantly. I  found  the  good  man  had  thoroughly  studied  my 
Almanac,  and  digested  all  I  had  dropped  on  these  topics  dur- 
ing the  course  of  twenty-five  years.  The  frequent  mention 
he  made  of  me  must  have  tired  any  one  else ;  but  my  vanity 
was  wonderfully  delighted  with  it,  though  I  was  conscious 
that  not  a  tenth  part  of  the  wisdom  was  my  own  which  he 
ascribed  to  me ;  but  rather  the  'gleanings  that  I  had  made  of 
the  sense  of  all  ages  and  nations.  However,  I  resolved  to 
be  the  better  for  the  echo  of  it ;  and,  though  I  had  at  first 
determined  to  buy  stuff  for  a  new  coat,  I  went  away,  resolved 
to  wear  my  old  one  a  little  longer.  Reader,  if  thou  wilt  do 
the  same,  thy  profit  will  be  as  great  as  mine.  I  am,  as  ever, 
thine  to  serve  thee,  RICHARD  SAUNDERS. 

This  quaint  address  made  a  brilliant  hit.  It  was  at  once 
printed  on  large  sheets,  framed,  and  hung  up  in  cottages  in 
England,  as  well  as  in  this  country.  It  was  also  translated 
into  French,  Spanish,  and  modern  Greek.  At  the  present 
day,  however,  it  is  not  often  met  with,  except  in  the  author's 
collected  works,  or  in  fragments ;  and  the  young  reader,  es- 
pecially, will  be  thankful  to  find  it  here  in  full. 


II. 

DEFENSE  0F  P  GREAT  fMM. 

WAS   DR.   FRANKLIN    MEAN  ?— JAMES   PARTON'S  ANSWER. 


MAN  of  no  enviable  notoriety  is  reported  to  have 
spoken  of  Dr.  Franklin  as  "hard,  calculating, 
angular,  unable  to  comprehend  any  higher  object 
than  the  accumulation  of  money."  Not  a  few 
people  who  profess  much  admiration  for  Franklin  in  other 
respects  seem  to  think  that  in  money  matters  there  was 
something  about  him  akin  to  meanness.  To  correct  this 
false  impression  and  show  "how  Franklin  got  his  money, 
how  much  he  got,  and  what  he  did  with  it,"  one  of  his 
recent  biographers  is  called  up  in  his  defense,  and  to  the 
question,  "Was  Dr.  Franklin  mean?"  here  is 

JAMES  PARTON'S  ANSWER. 

I  will  begin  with  the  first  pecuniary  transaction  in  which 
he  is  known  to  have  been  concerned,  and  this  shall  be  given 
in  his  own  words: 

"  When  I  was  a  child  of  seven  years  old  my  friends,  on 
a  holiday,  filled  my  pockets  with  coppers.  I  went  directly 
to  a  shop  where  they  sold  toys  for  children,  and,  being 
charmed  with  the  sound  of  a  whistle,  that  I  met  by  the  way 
in  the  hands  of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  and  gave 
all  my  money  for  one." 

That  was  certainly  not  the  act  of  a  stingy,  calculating  boy. 

His  next  purchase,  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  was 
made  when  he  was  about  eleven  years  old;  and  this  time,  I 

confess,  he  made  a  much  better  bargain.     The  first  book  he 

23 


24  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

could  ever  call  his  own  was  a  copy  of  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
which  he  read  and  re-read  until  he  got  from  it  all  so  young 
a  person  could  understand.  But  being  exceedingly  fond  of 
reading,  he  exchanged  his  Pilgrim's  Progress  for  a  set  of 
little  books,  then  much  sold  by  peddlers,  called  "Burton's 
Historical  Collections,"  in  forty  paper-covered  volumes,  con- 
taining history,  travels,  tales,  wonders,  and  curiosities,  just 
the  thing  for  a  boy.  As  we  do  not  know  the  market  value 
of  his  Pilgrim's  Progress,  we  can  not  tell  whether  the  poor 
peddler  did  well  by  him  or  the  contrary.  But  it  strikes  me 
that  that  is  not  the  kind  of  barter  in  which  a  mean,  grasp- 
ing boy  usually  engages. 

His  father  being  a  poor  soap-and-candle  maker,  with  a 
dozen  children  or  more  to  support  or  assist,  and  Benjamin 
being  a  printer's  apprentice,  he  was  more  and  more  puzzled 
to  gratify  his  love  of  knowledge.  But  one  day  he  hit  upon 
an  expedient  that  brought  in  a  little  cash.  By  reading  a 
vegetarian  book  this  hard,  calculating  Yankee  lad  had  been 
led  to  think  that  people  could  live  better  without  meat  than 
with  it,  and  that  killing  innocent  animals  for  food  was  cruel 
and  wicked.  So  he  abstained  from  meat  altogether  for  about 
two  years.  As  this  led  to  some  inconvenience  at  his  board- 
ing-house, he  made  this  cunning  proposition  to  his  master: 

"  Give  me  one-half  the  money  you  pay  for  my  board  and 
I  will  board  myself." 

The  master  consenting,  the  apprentice  lived  entirely  on 
such  things  as  hominy,  bread,  rice,  and  potatoes,  and  found 
that  he  could  actually  live  upon  half  of  the  half.  What  did 
the  calculating  wretch  do  with  the  money?  Put  it  into  his 
money-box?  No;  he  laid  it  out  in  the  improvement  of 
his  mind. 

When  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  landed  in  Philadelphia, 
a  runaway  apprentice,  he  had  one  silver  dollar  and  one 


DEFENSE  OF  A  GREAT  MAN.  25 

shilling  in  copper  coin.  It  was  a  fine  Sunday  morning,  as 
probably  the  reader  remembers,  and  he  knew  not  a  soul  in 
the  place.  He  asked  the  boatmen  upon  whose  boat  he  had 
come  down  the  Delaware  how  much  he  had  to  pay.  They 
answered,  Nothing,  because  he  had  helped  them  row.  Frank- 
lin, however,  insisted  upon  their  taking  his  shilling's  worth 
of  coppers,  and  forced  the  money  upon  them.  An  hour  after, 
having  bought  three  rolls  for  his  breakfast,  he  ate  one  and 
gave  the  other  two  to  a  poor  woman  and  her  child  who  had 
been  his  fellow-passengers.  These  were  small  things,  you 
may  say;  but  remember  he  was  a  poor,  ragged,  dirty  run- 
away in  a  strange  town,  four  hundred  miles  from  a  friend,  with 
three  pence  gone  out  of  the  only  dollar  he  had  in  the  world. 

Next  year  when  he  went  home  to  see  his  parents,  with 
his  pocket  full  of  money,  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and  a  watch, 
one  of  his  oldest  Boston  friends  was  so  much  pleased  with 
Franklin's  account  of  Philadelphia  that  he  determined  to  go 
back  with  him.  On  the  journey  Franklin  discovered  that 
his  friend  had  become  a  slave  to  drink.  He  was  sorely 
plagued  and  disgraced  by  him,  and  at  last  the  young  drunk- 
ard had  spent  all  his  money  and  had  no  way  of  getting  on 
except  by  Franklin's  aid.  This  hard,  calculating,  mercenary 
youth,  did  he  seize  the  chance  of  shaking  off  a  most  trouble- 
some and  injurious  traveling  companion?  Strange  to  relate, 
he  stuck  to  his  old  friend,  shared  his  purse  with  him  till  it  was 
empty,  and  then  began  on  some  money  which  he  had  been 
intrusted  with  for  another,  and  so  got  him  to  Philadelphia, 
where  he  still  assisted  him.  It  was  seven  years  before 
Franklin  was  able  to  pay  all  the  debt  incurred  by  him  to 
aid  this  old  friend,  for  abandoning  whom  few  would  have 
blamed  him. 

A  year  after  he  was  in  still  worse  difficulty  from  a  sim- 
ilar cause.  He  went  to  London  to  buy  types  and  a  press 


26  BRA  VE  MEN  A  ND   WOMEN. 

with  which  to  establish  himself  in  business  at  Philadelphia, 
the  governor  of  Pennsylvania  having  promised  to  furnish 
the  money.  One  of  the  passengers  on  the  ship  was  a  young 
friend  of  Franklin's  named  James  Ralph,  with  whom  he  had 
often  studied,  and  of  whom  he  was  exceedingly  fond.  Ralph 
gave  out  that  he,  too,  was  going  to  London  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  going  into  business  for  himself  at  Philadelphia. 
The  young  friends  arrrived.  Franklin  nineteen  and  Ralph 
a  married  man  with  two  children.  On  reaching  London 
Franklin  learned,  to  his  amazement  and  dismay,  that  the 
governor  had  deceived  him,  that  no  money  was  to  be  ex- 
pected from  him,  and  that  he  must  go  to  work  and  earn  his 
living  at  his  trade.  No  sooner  had  he  learned  this  than 
James  Ralph  gave  him  another  piece  of  stunning  intelli- 
gence ;  namely,  that  he  had  run  away  from  his  family  and 
meant  to  settle  iu  London  as  a  poet  and  author. 

Franklin  had  ten  pounds  in  his  pocket,  and  knew  a 
trade.  Ralph  had  no  money,  and  knew  no  trade.  They 
were  both  strangers  in  a  strange  city.  Now,  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, what  would  a  mean,  calculating  young  man 
have  done?  Reader,  you  know  very  well,  without  my  tell- 
ing you.  What  Franklin  did  was  this:  he  shared  his  purse 
with  his  friend  till  his  ten  pounds  were  all  gone;  and  having 
at  once  got  to  work  at  his  trade,  he  kept  on  dividing  his  wages 
with  Ralph  until  he  had  advanced  him  thirty-six  pounds — 
half  a  year's  income — not  a  penny  of  which  was  ever  re- 
paid. And  this  he  did — the  cold-blooded  wretch ! — because 
he  could  not  help  loving  his  brilliant,  unprincipled  com- 
rade, though  disapproving  his  conduct  and  sadly  needing 
his  money. 

Having  returned  to  Philadelphia,  he  set  up  in  business 
as  a  printer  and  editor,  and,  after  a  very  severe  effort,  he 
got  his  business  well  established,  and  at  last  had  the  most 


DEFENSE  OF  A  GREAT  MAN.  27 

profitable  establishment  of  the  kind  in  all  America.  Dur- 
ing the  most  active  part  of  his  business  life  he  always  found 
some  time  for  the  promotion  of  public  objects.  He  founded 
a  most  useful  and  public-spirited  club;  a  public  library, 
which  still  exists,  and  assisted  in  every  worthy  scheme.  He 
was  most  generous  to  his  poor  relations,  hospitable  to  his 
fellow-citizens,  and  particularly  interested  in  his  journeymen, 
many  of  whom  he  set  up  in  business. 

The  most  decisive  proof,  however,  which  he  ever  gave 
that  he  did  not  overvalue  money,  was  the  retirement  from  a 
most  profitable  business  for  the  purpose  of  having  leisure  to 
pursue  his  philosophical  studies.  He  had  been  in  business 
twenty  years,  and  he  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life — forty -six 
years  of  age.  He  was  making  money  faster  than  any  other 
printer  on  this  continent.  But  being  exceedingly  desirous 
of  spending  the  rest  of  his  days  in  study  and  experiment, 
and  having  saved  a  moderate  competency,  he  sold  his  estab- 
lishment to  his  foreman  on  very  easy  terms,  and  withdrew. 
His  estate,  when  he  retired,  was  worth  about  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  If  he  had  been  a  lover  of  money,  I  am 
confident  that  he  could  and  would  have  accumulated  one 
of  the  largest  fortunes  in  America.  He  had  nothing  to  do 
but  continue  in  business,  and  take  care  of  his  investments, 
to  roll  up  a  prodigious  estate.  But  not  having  the  slightest 
taste  for  needless  accumulation,  he  joyfully  laid  aside  the 
cares  of  business,  and  spent  the  whole  remainder  of  his  life 
in  the  services  of  his  country;  for  he  gave  up  his  heart's 
desire  of  devoting  his  leisure  to  philosophy  when  his  coun- 
try needed  him. 

Being  in  London  when  Captain  Cook  returned  from  his 
first  voyage  to  the  Pacific,  he  entered  warmly  into  a  beauti- 
ful scheme  for  sending  a  ship  for  the  purpose  of  stocking 
the  islands  there  with  pigs,  vegetables,  and  other  useful  an- 


28  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

imals  and  products.  A  hard,  selfish  man  would  have  laughed 
such  a  project  to  scorn. 

In  1776,  when  he  was  appointed  embassador  of  the  re- 
volted colonies  to  the  French  king,  the  ocean  swarmed  with 
British  cruisers,  General  Washington  had  lost  New  York, 
and  the  prospects  of  the  Revolution  were  gloomy  in  the 
extreme.  Dr.  Franklin  was  an  old  man  of  seventy,  and 
might  justly  have  asked  to  be  excused  from  a  service  so 
perilous  and  fatiguing.  But  he  did  not.  He  went.  And 
just  before  he  sailed  he  got  together  all  the  money  he  could 
raise — about  three  thousand  pounds — and  invested  it  in  the 
loan  recently  announced  by  Congress.  This  he  did  at  a 
moment  when  few  men  had  a  hearty  faith  in  the  success  of 
the  Revolution.  This  he  did  when  he  was  going  to  a  for- 
eign country  that  might  not  receive  him,  from  which  he 
might  be  expelled,  and  he  have  no  country  to  return  to. 
There  never  was  a  more  gallant  and  generous  act  done  by 
an  old  man. 

In  France  he  was  as  much  the  main  stay  of  the  cause 
of  his  country  as  General  Washington  was  at  home. 

Returning  home  after  the  war,  he  was  elected  president 
of  Pennsylvania  for  three  successive  years,  at  a  salary  of  two 
thousand  pounds  a  year.  But  by  this  time  he  had  become 
convinced  that  offices  of  honor,  such  as  the  governorship 
of  a  State,  ought  not  to  have  any  salary  attached  to  them. 
He  thought  they  should  be  filled  by  persons  of  independent 
income,  willing  to  serve  their  fellow-citizens  from  benevo- 
lence, or  for  the  honor  of  it.  So  thinking,  he  at  first  deter- 
mined not  to  receive  any  salary;  but  this  being  objected  to, 
he  devoted  the  whole  of  the  salary  for  three  years — six 
thousand  pounds — to  the  furtherance  of  public  objects.  Part 
of  it  he  gave  to  a  college,  and  part  was  set  aside  for  the 
improvement  of  the  Schuylkill  River. 


DEFENSE  OF  A  GREAT  MAN.  29 

Never  was  an  eminent  man  more  thoughtful  of  people 
who  were  the  companions  of  his  poverty.  Dr.  Franklin, 
from  amidst  the  splendors  of  the  French  court,  and  when 
he  was  the  most  famous  and  admired  person  in  Europe, 
forgot  not  his  poor  old  sister,  Jane,  who  was  in  fact  depend- 
ent on  his  bounty.  He  gave  her  a  house  in  Boston,  and 
sent  her  every  September  the  money  to  lay  in  her  Winter's 
fuel  and  provisions.  He  wrote  her  the  kindest,  wittiest, 
pleasantest  letters.  "Believe  me,  dear  brother,"  she  writes, 
"your  writing  to  me  gives  me  so  much  pleasure  that  the 
great,  the  very  great,  presents  you  have  sent  me  give  me 
but  a  secondary  joy." 

How  exceedingly  absurd  to  call  such  a  man  "hard"  and 
miserly,  because  he  recommended  people  not  to  waste  their 
money!  Let  me  tell  you,  reader,  that  if  a  man  means  to 
be  liberal  and  generous,  he  must  be  economical.  No  people 
are  so  mean  as  the  extravagant,  because,  spending  all  they 
have  upon  themselves,  they  have  nothing  left  for  others. 
Benjamin  Franklin  was  the  most  consistently  generous  man 
of  whom  I  have  any  knowledge. 


III. 


81  R  WALTER  SG0T7  W  HIS 


THE  MOTHER'S  EDUCATION—  THE  SON'S  TRAINING—  DOMESTIC  LOVE 
AND  SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


T  was  in  the  Spring  of  1758  that  the  daughter 
of  a  distinguished  professor  of  medicine  in  the 
University  of  Edinburgh  changed  her  maiden 
name  of  Rutherford  for  her  married  name  of 
Scott,  having  the  happiness  to  unite  her  lot  with  one  who 
was  not  only  a  scrupulously  honorable  man,  but  who,  from 
his  youth  up,  had  led  a  singularly  blameless  life.  Well  does 
Coventry  Patmore  sing : 

"  Who  is  the  happy  husband  ?    He, 

Who,  scanning  his  unwedded  life, 

Thanks  Heaven,  with  a  conscience  free, 

'Twas  faithful  to  his  future  wife." 

Such  a  husband  as  this  was  the  father  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  a  writer  to  the  signet  (or  lawyer)  in  large  practice  in 
Edinburgh.  He  had  never  been  led  from  the  right  way; 
and  when  the  less  virtuously  inclined  among  the  compan- 
ions of  his  early  life  in  Edinburgh  found  that  they  could 
not  corrupt  him,  they  ceased  after  a  little  while  to  laugh  at 
him,  and  learned  to  honor  him  and  to  confide  in  him,  "  which 
is  certainly,"  says  he  who  makes  the  record  on  the  authority 
of  Mrs.  Scott  herself,  "  a  great  inducement  to  young  men  in 
the  outset  of  life  to  act  a  similar  part."  It  does  not  appear 
that  old  Walter  Scott  sought  for  beauty  of  person  in  his  bride, 
though  no  doubt  the  face  he  loved  was  more  beautiful  to  him 

than  that  of  the  bonniest  belle  in  Scotland ;  but  beauty  of 
30 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  HIS  MOTHER.  31 

mind  and  disposition  she  certainly  had.  Of  her  father  it  is 
told  that,  when  in  practice  as  a  physician,  he  never  gave  a 
prescription  without  silently  invoking  on  it  the  blessing  of 
Heaven,  and  the  piety  which  dictated  the  custom  had  been 
inherited  by  his  daughter. 

THE  MOTHER'S  EDUCATION. 

Mrs.  Scott's  education,  also,  had  been  an  excellent  one — 
giving,  besides  a  good  general  grounding,  an  acquaintance 
with  literature,  and  not  neglecting  "  the  more  homely  duties 
of  the  needle  and  the  account-book."  Her  manners,  more- 
over (an  important  and  too  often  neglected  factor  in  a  moth- 
er's influence  over  her  children),  were  finished  and  elegant, 
though  intolerably  stiff  in  some  respects,  when  compared 
with  the  manners  and  habits  of  to-day.  The  maidens  of  to- 
day can  scarcely  realize,  for  instance,  the  asperity  of  the 
training  of  their  embryo  great-grandmothers,  who  were  al- 
ways made  to  sit  in  so  Spartanly  upright  a  posture  that  Mrs. 
Scott,  in  her  seventy-ninth  year,  boasted  that  she  had  never 
allowed  her  shoulders  to  touch  the  back  of  her  chair ! 

THE  SON'S  TRAINING. 

As  young  Walter  was  one  of  many  children  he  could  not, 
of  course,  monopolize  his  mother's  attention ;  but  probably 
she  recognized  the  promise  of  his  future  greatness  (unlike  the 
mother  of  the  duke  of  Wellington,  who  thought  Arthur  the 
family  dunce),  and  gave  him  a  special  care ;  for,  speaking  of 
his  early  boyhood,  he  tells  us :  "I  found  much  consolation 
in  the  partiality  of  my  mother."  And  he  goes  on  to  say  that 
she  joined  to  a  light  and  happy  temper  of  mind  a  strong  turn 
to  study  poetry  and  works  of  imagination.  Like  the  moth- 
ers of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  and  of  Burns,  she  repeated  to 
her  son  the  traditionary  ballads  she  knew  by  heart ;  and,  so 
soon  as  he  was  sufficiently  advanced,  his  leisure  hours  were 


32  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

usually  spent  in  reading  Pope's  translation  of  Homer  aloud 
to  her,  which,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  ballads  and  some 
of  Allan  Ramsay's  songs^  was  the  first  poetry  he  made  ac- 
quaintance with.  It  must  often  have  been  with  anxiety,  and 
sometimes  not  without  a  struggle,  that  his  mother — solicitous 
about  every  trifle  which  affected  the  training  of  her  child — 
decided  on  the  books  which  she  was  to  place  in  his  hands. 
She  wished  him  to  develop  his  intellectual  faculties,  but  not 
at  the  expense  of  his  spiritual ;  and  romantic  frivolity  and 
mental  dissipation  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  too  severe  repres- 
sion— dangerous  in  its  after  reaction — on  the  other,  were  the 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  between  which  she  had  to  steer.  The 
ascetic  Puritanism  of  her  training  and  surroundings  would 
naturally  have  led  her  to  the  narrower  and  more  restrictive 
view,  in  which  her  husband,  austerer  yet,  would  have  heart- 
ily concurred ;  but  her  broad  sense,  quickened  by  the  mar- 
velous insight  that  comes  from  maternal  love,  led  her  to 
adopt  the  broader,  and,  we  may  safely  add,  with  Sir  Walter's 
career  and  character  before  us,  the  better  course.  Her  cour- 
age was,  however,  tempered  with  a  wise  discretion ;  and  when 
he  read  to  her  she  was  wont,  he  says,  to  make  him  "  pause 
upon  those  passages  which  expressed  generous  and  M'orthy 
sentiments" — a  most  happy  method  of  education,  and  a  most 
effective  one  in  the  case  of  an  impressionable  boy.  A  little 
later,  when  he  passed  from  the  educational  care  of  his  mother 
to  that  of  a  tutor,  his  relations  to  literature  changed,  as  the 
following  passage  from  his  autobiography  will  show :  "  My 
tutor  thought  it  almost  a  sin  to  open  a  profane  play  or  poem ; 
and  my  mother  had  no  longer  the  opportunity  to  hear  me 
read  poetry  as  formerly.  I  found,  however,  in  her  dressing- 
room,  where  I  slept  at  one  time,  some  odd  volumes  of 
Shakespeare;  nor  can  I  easily  forget  the  rapture  with  which 
I  sat  up  in  my  shirt  reading  them  by  the  light  of  a  fire  in 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  HIS  MOTHER.  33 

her  apartment,  until  the  bustle  of  the  family  rising  from 
supper  warned  me  that  it  was  time  to  creep  back  to  my  bed, 
where  I  was  supposed  to  have  been  safely  deposited  since  9 
o'clock."  This  is  a  suggestive,  as  Avell  as  frank,  story.  Sup- 
posing for  a  moment  that  instead  of  Shakespeare  the  room 
had  contained  some  of  the  volumes  of  verse  and  romance 
which,  though  denying  alike  the  natural  and  the  supernat- 
ural virtues,  are  to  be  found  in  many  a  Christian  home,  how 
easily  might  he  have  suffered  a  contamination  of  mind. 

DOMESTIC  LOYE  AHD  SOCIAL  DUTY. 

It  has  been  proudly  said  of  Sir  Walter  as  an  author  that 
he  never  forgot  the  sanctities  of  domestic  love  and  social 
duty  in  all  that  he  wrote ;  and  considering  how  much  he  did 
write,  and  how  vast  has  been  the  influence  of  his  work  on 
mankind,  we  can  scarcely  overestimate  the  importance  of 
the  fact.  Yet  it  might  have  been  all  wrecked  by  one  little 
parental  imprudence  in  this  matter  of  books.  And  what 
excuse  is  there,  after  all,  for  running  the  terrible  risk? 
Authors  who  are  not  fit  to  be  read  by  the  sons  and  daugh- 
ters are  rarely  read  without  injury  by  the  fathers  and 
mothers;  and  it  would  be  better  by  far,  Savonarola-like,  to 
make  a  bonfire  of  all  the  literature  of  folly,  wickedness,  and 
infidelity,  than  run  the  risk  of  injuring  a  child  simply  for 
the  sake  of  having  a  few  volumes  more  on  one's  shelves. 
In  the  balance  of  heaven  there  is  no  parity  between  a  com- 
plete library  and  a  lost  soul.  But  this  story  has  another 
lesson.  It  indicates  once  more  the  injury  which  may  be 
done  to  character  by  undue  limitations.  Under  the  ill-con- 
sidered restrictions  of  his  tutor,  which  ran  counter  to  the 
good  sense  of  his  mother,  whose  wisdom  was  justified  by  the 
event,  Walter  Scott  might  easily  have  fallen  into  tricks  of 
concealment  and  forfeited  his  candor — that  candor  which 

3 


34  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

developed  into  the  noble  probity  which  marked  his  conduct 
to  the  last.  Without  candor  there  can  not  be  truth,  and, 
as  he  himself  has  said,  there  can  be  no  other  virtue  without 
truth.  Fortunately  for  him,  by  the  wise  sanction  his  mother 
had  given  to  his  perusal  of  imaginative  writings,  she  had 
robbed  them  of  a  mystery  unhealthy  in  itself;  and  he  came 
through  these  stolen  readings  substantially  unharmed,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  his  fault  was  only  the  lighter  one  of  sit- 
ting up  when  he  was  supposed  to  be  lying  down. 

Luckily  this  tutor's  stern  rule  did  not  last  long;  and 
when  a  severe  illness  attacked  the  youth  (then  advanced  to 
be  a  student  at  Edinburgh  College)  and  brought  him  under 
his  mother's  charge  once  more,  the  bed  on  which  he  lay  was 
piled  with  a  constant  succession  of  works  of  imagination, 
and  he  was  allowed  to  find  consolation  in  poetry  and  ro- 
mance, those  fountains  which  flow  forever  for  the  ardent  and 
the  young.  It  was  in  relation  to  Mrs.  Scott's  control  of  her 
son's  reading  that  he  wrote  with  gratitude,  late  in  life,  "My 
mother  had  good  natural  taste  and  great  feeling."  And 
after  her  death,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  he  paid  her  this 
tribute:  "She  had  a  mind  peculiarly  well  stored.  If  I  have 
been  able  to  do  any  thing  in  the  way  of  painting  the  past 
times,  it  is  very  much  from  the  studies  with  which  she  pre- 
sented me.  She  was  a  strict  economist,  which,  she  said,  en- 
abled her  to  be  liberal.  Out  of  her  little  income  of  about 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year,  she  bestowed  at  least  a  third 
in  charities;  yet  I  could  never  prevail  on  her  to  accept  of 
any  assistance."  Her  charity,  as  well  as  her  love  for  gene- 
alogy, and  her  aptitude  for  story-telling,  was  transmitted  to 
her  son.  It  found  expression  in  him,  not  only  in  material 
gifts  to  the  poor,  but  in  a  conscientious  care  and  consider- 
ation for  the  feelings  of  others.  This  trait  is  beautifully 
exhibited  by  many  of  the  facts  recorded  by  Lockhart  in  his 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  HIS  MOTHER.  35 

famous  memoir,  and  also  by  a  little  incident,  not  included 
there,  which  I  have  heard  Sir  Henry  Taylor  tell,  and  which, 
besides  illustrating  the  subject,  deserves  for  its  own  sake  a 
place  in  print.  The  great  and  now  venerable  author  of 
"Philip  Van  Artevelde"  dined  at  Abbotsford  only  a  year 
or  two  before  the  close  of  its  owner's  life.  Sir  Walter  had 
then  lost  his  old  vivacity,  though  not  his  simple  dignity; 
but  for  one  moment  during  the  course  of  the  evening  he 
rose  into  animation,  and  it  happened  thus:  There  was  a 
talk  among  the  party  of  an  excursion  which  was  to  be  made 
on  the  following  day,  and  during  the  discussion  of  the  plans 
Miss  Scott  mentioned  that  two  elderly  maiden  ladies,  living 
in  the  neighborhood,  were  to  be  of  the  number,  and  hinted 
that  their  company  would  be  a  bore.  The  chivalrous  kind- 
liness of  her  father's  heart  was  instantly  aroused.  "I  can 
not  call  that  good-breeding,"  he  said,  in  an  earnest  and  dig- 
nified tone — a  rebuke  which  echoed  the  old-fashioned  teach- 
ing on  the  duties  of  true  politeness  he  had  heard  from  his 
mother  half  a  century  before. 

We  would  gladly  know  more  than  we  do  of  Mrs.  Scott's 
attitude  toward  her  son  when  first  his  penchant  for  authorship 
was  shown.  That  she  smiled  on  his  early  evidences  of  talent, 
and  fostered  them,  we  may  well  imagine ;  and  the  tenderness 
with  which  she  regarded  his  early  compositions  is  indicated 
by  the  fact  that  a  copy  of  verses,  written  in  a  boyish  scrawl, 
was  carefully  preserved  by  her,  and  found,  after  her  death, 
folded  in  a  paper  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  My  Walter's  first 
lines,  1782."  That  she  gloried  in  his  successes  when  they 
came,  we  gather;  for  when  speaking  late  in  life  to  Dr.  Davy 
about  his  brother  Sir  Humphrey's  distinction,  Sir  Walter, 
doubtless  drawing  on  his  own  home  memories,  remarked,  "  I 
hope,  Dr.  Davy,  that  your  mother  lived  to  see  it;  there  must 
have  been  great  pleasure  in  that  to  her."  But  with  whatever 


36  BKA  VE   MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


zeal  Mrs.  Scott  may  have  unfolded  Sir  Walter's  mind  by  her 
training,  by  her  praise,  by  her  motherly  enthusiasm,  it  is  cer- 
tain that,  from  first  to  last,  she  loved  his  soul,  and  sought  its 
interest,  in  and  above  all.  Her  final  present  to  him  before 
she  died  was  not  a  Shakespeare  or  a  Milton,  but  an  old  Bible  — 
the  book  she  loved  best;  and  for  her  sake  Sir  Walter  loved 
it  too. 

Happy  was  Mrs.  Scott  in  having  a  son  who  in  all  things 
reciprocated  the  affection  of  his  mother.  With  the  first  five- 
guinea  fee  he  earned  at  the  bar  he  bought  a  present  for  her  — 
a  silver  taper-stand,  which  stood  on  her  mantle-piece  many  a 
year  ;  when  he  became  enamored  of  Miss  Carpenter  he  filially 
wrote  to  consult  his  mother  about  the  attachment,  and  to  beg 
her  blessing  upon  it;  when,  in  1819,  she  died  at  an  advanced 
age,  he  was  in  attendance  at  her  side,  and,  full  of  occupations 
though  he  was,  we  find  him  busying  himself  to  obtain  for  her 
body  a  beautifully  situated  grave.  Thirteen  years  later  he 
also  rested  from  his  labors.  During  the  last  hours  of  his 
lingering  life  he  desired  to  be  read  to  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment ;  and  when  his  memory  for  secular  poetry  had  entirely 
failed  him,  the  words  and  the  import  of  the  sacred  volume 
were  still  in  his  recollection,  as  were  also  some  of  the  hymns 
of  his  childhood,  which  his  grandson,  aged  six  years,  repeated 
to  him.  "  Lockhart,"  he  said  to  his  son-in-law,  "  I  have  but 
a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a  good  man  ;  be  vir- 
tuous, be  religious,  be  a  good  man.  Nothing  else  will  give 
you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here." 

So  passed  the  great  author  of  "  Waverley"  away.  And 
when,  in  due  course,  his  executors  came  to  search  for  his 
testament,  and  lifted  up  his  desk,  "we  found,"  says  one  of 
them,  "  arranged  in  careful  order  a  series  of  little  objects, 
which  had  obviously  been  so  placed  there  that  his  eye  might 
rest  on  them  every  morning  before  he  began  his  tasks." 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  HIS  MOTHER.  37 

There  were  the  old-fashioned  boxes  that  had  garnished  his 
mother's*  toilet-table  when  he,  a  sickly  child,  slept  in  her 
dressing-room;  the  silver  taper-stand  which  the  young  advo- 
cate bought  for  her  with  his  first  fee ;  a  row  of  small  packets 
inscribed  by  her  hand,  and  containing  the  hair  of  such  of  her 
children  as  had  died  before  her;  and  more  odds  and  ends  of 
a  like  sort — pathetic  tokens  of  a  love  which  bound  together 
for  a  little  while  here  on  earth,  and  binds  together  for  ever- 
more in  heaven,  Christian  mother  and  son. 

Sir  Walter  of  the  land 
Of  song  and  old  romance, 
Tradition  in  his  cunning  hand 
Obedient  as  the  lance 

His  valiant  Black  Knight  hore, 
"Wove  into  literature 
The  legend,  myth,  and  homely  lore 
Which  now  for  us  endure, 

To  charm  our  weary  hours, 
To  rouse  our  stagnant  hearts, 
And  leave  the  sense  of  new-born  powers, 
Which  never  more  departs. 

We  thank  him  in  the  name 
Of  One  who  sits  on  high, 
And  aye  abides  in  every  fame 
Which  makes  a  brighter  sky. 


IV. 


(BORN  1744 — DIED  1818.) 
THE  WIFE  OF  OUR  SECOND  PRESIDENT— THE  MOTHER  OF  OUR  SIXTH. 


ABIGAIL  SMITH,  the  daughter  of  a  Congrega- 
tional minister,  of  Weymouth,  Massachusetts, 
was  one  of  the  most  noted  women  of  our  early 
history.  She  left  a  record  of  her  heart  and  charac- 
ter, and  to  some  extent  a  picture  of  the  stirring  times  in 
which  she  lived,  in  the  shape  of  letters  which  are  of  peren- 
nial value,  especially  to  the  young.  "  It  was  fashionable  to 
ridicule  female  learning"  in  her  day;  and  she  says  of  herself 
in  one  of  her  letters,  "  I  was  never  sent  to  any  school."  She 
adds  in  explanation,  "I  was  always  sick."  When  girls, 
however,  were  sent  to  school,  their  education  seldom  went 
beyond  writing  and  arithmetic.  But  in  spite  of  disadvan- 
tages, she  read  and  studied  in  private,  and  by  means  of 
correspondence  with  relatives  and  others,  cultivated  her  mind, 
and  formed  an  easy  and  graceful  style  of  writing. 

On  the  25th  of  October,  1764,  Miss  Smith  became  the 
wife  of  John  Adams,  a  lawyer  of  Braintree,  the  part  of  the 
town  in  which  he  lived  being  afterwards  called  Quincy, 
in  honor  of  Mrs.  Adams's  maternal  grandfather.  Charles 
Francis  Adams,  her  grandson,  from  whose  memoir  of  her 
the  material  for  this  brief  sketch  is  drawn,  says  that  the  ten 
years  immediately  following  her  marriage  present  little  that 
is  worth  recording. 

But  when  the  days  of  the  Revolution  came  on,  those  times 
that  tried  men's  souls,  women  were  by  no  means  exempt 
38 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS.  39 

from  tribulation,  and  they,  too,  began  to  make  history.  The 
strength  of  Mrs.  Adams's  affection  for  her  husband  may  be 
learned  from  an  extract  from  one  of  her  letters :  "  I  very 
well  remember  when  Eastern  circuits  of  the  courts,  which 
lasted  a  month,  were  thought  an  age,  and  an  absence  of  three 
months  intolerable;  but  we  are  carried  from  step  to  step, 
and  from  one  degree  to  another,  to  endure  that  which  we  at 
first  think  impossible." 

In  1778  her  husband  went  as  one  of  the  commissioners  to 
France.  During  his  absence  Mrs.  Adams  managed,  as  she 
had  often  done  before,  both  the  household  and  the  farm — a 
true  wife  and  mother  of  the  Revolution.  "  She  was  a  farmer 
cultivating  the  land,  and  discussing  the  weather  and  the  crops ; 
a  merchant  reporting  prices  current  and  the  rates  of  exchange, 
and  directing  the  making  up  of  invoices;  a  politician  specu- 
lating upon  the  probabilities  of  peace  and  war;  and  a  mother 
writing  the  most  exalted  sentiments  to  her  son." 

John  Quincy  Adams,  the  son,  in  his  twelfth  year,  was 
with  his  father  in  Europe.  The  following  extracts  are 
from  letters  to  him,  dated  1778-80: 

"  'T  is  almost  four  months  since  you  left  your  native  land, 
and  embarked  upon  the  mighty  waters,  in  quest  of  a  foreign 
country.  Although  I  have  not  particularly  written  to  you 
since,  yet  you  may  be  assured  you  have  constantly  been  upon 
my  heart  and  mind. 

"It  is  a  very  difficult  task,  my  dear  son,  for  a  tender 
parent  to  bring  her  mind  to  part  with  a  child  of  your  years 
going  to  a  distant  land ;  nor  could  I  have  acquiesced  in  such 
a  separation  under  any  other  care  than  that  of  the  most  ex- 
cellent parent  and  guardian  who  accompanied  you.  You 
have  arrived  at  years  capable  of  improving  under  the  advan- 
tages you  will  be  likely  to  have,  if  you  do  but  properly  attend 
to  them.  They  are  talents  put  into  your  hands,  of  which  an 


40  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

account  will  be  required  of  you  hereafter ;  and  being  possessed 
of  one,  two,  or  four,  see  to  it  that  you  double  your  numbers. 

"  The  most  amiable  and  most  useful  disposition  in  a  young 
mind  is  diffidence  of  itself;  and  this  should  lead  you  to  seek 
advice  and  instruction  from  him  who  is  your  natural  guardian, 
and  will  always  counsel  and  direct  you  in  the  best  manner, 
both  for  your  present  and  future  happiness.  You  are  in 
possession  of  a  natural  good  understanding,  and  of  spirits 
unbroken  by  adversity  and  untamed  with  care.  Improve 
your  understanding  by  acquiring  useful  knowledge  and 
virtue,  such  as  will  render  you  an  ornament  to  society,  an 
honor  to  your  country,  and  a  blessing  to  your  parents.  Great 
learning  and  superior  abilities,  should  you  ever  possess  them, 
will  be  of  little  value  and  small  estimation  unless  virtue, 
honor,  truth,  and  integrity  are  added  to  them.  Adhere  to 
those  religious  sentiments  and  principles  which  were  early 
instilled  into  your  mind,  and  remember  that  you  are  account- 
able to  your  Maker  for  all  your  words  and  actions. 

"Let  me  enjoin  it  upon  you  to  attend  constantly  and 
steadfastly  to  the  precepts  and  instructions  of  your  father,  as 
you  value  the  happiness  of  your  mother  and  your  own  wel- 
fare. His  care  and  attention  to  you  render  many  things 
unnecessary  for  me  to  write,  which  I  might  otherwise  do; 
but  the  inadvertency  and  heedlessness  of  youth  require  line 
upon  line  and  precept  upon  precept,  and,  when  enforced  by 
the  joint  efforts  of  both  parents,  will,  I  hope,  have  a  due 
influence  upon  your  conduct;  for,  dear  as  you  are  to  me,  I 
would  much  rather  you  should  have  found  your  grave  in  the 
ocean  you  have  crossed,  or  that  any  untimely  death  crop  you 
in  your  infant  years,  than  see  you  an  immoral,  profligate,  or 
graceless  child. 

"  You  have  entered  early  in  life  upon  the  great  theater  of 
the  world,  which  is  full  of  temptations  and  vice  of  every  kind. 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS.  41 

You  are  not  wholly  unacquainted  with  history,  in  which  you 
have  read  of  crimes  which  your  inexperienced  mind  could 
scarcely  believe  credible.  You  have  been  taught  to  think 
of  them  with  horror,  and  to  view  vice  as 

'  A  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
That,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen.' 

"  Yet  you  must  keep  a  strict  guard  upon  yourself,  or  the 
odious  monster  will  soon  lose  its  terror  by  becoming  familiar 
to  you.  The  modern  history  of  our  own  times  furnishes  as 
black  a  list  of  crimes  as  can  be  paralleled  in  ancient  times, 
even  if  we  go  back  to  Nero,  Caligula,  or  Caesar  Borgia. 
Young  as  you  are,  the  cruel  war  into  which  we  have  been 
compelled  by  the  haughty  tyrant  of  Britain  and  the  bloody 
emissaries  of  his  vengeance,  may  stamp  upon  your  mind  this 
certain  truth,  that  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  all  countries, 
communities,  and,  I  may  add.  individuals,  depend  upon  their 
morals.  That  nation  to  which  we  were  once  united,  as  it  has 
departed  from  justice,  eluded  and  subverted  the  wise  laws 
which  formerly  governed  it,  and  suffered  the  worst  of  crimes 
to  go  unpunished,  has  lost  its  valor,  wisdom,  and  humanity, 
and,  from  being  the  dread  and  terror  of  Europe,  has  sunk 
into  derision  and  infamy 

"Some  author,  that  I  have  met  with,  compares  a  judicious 
traveler  to  a  river,  that  increases  its  stream  the  further  it  flows 
from  its  source ;  or  to  certain  springs,  which,  running  through 
rich  veins  of  minerals,  improve  their  qualities  as  they  pass 
along.  It  will  be  expected  of  you,  my  son,  that,  as  you  are 
favored  with  superior  advantages  under  the  instructive  eye 
of  a  tender  parent,  your  improvement  should  bear  some 
proportion  to  your  advantages.  Nothing  is  wanting  with 
you  but  attention,  diligence,  and  steady  application.  Nature 
has  not  been  deficient. 

"These  are  times  in  which  a  genius  would  wish  to  live. 


42  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

It  is  not  in  the  still  calm  of  life,  or  the  repose  of  a  pacific 
station,  that  great  characters  are  formed.  Would  Cicero 
have  shone  so  distinguished  an  orator  if  he  had  not  been 
roused,  kindled,  and  inflamed  by  the  tyranny  of  Catiline, 
Verres,  and  Mark  Antony  ?  The  habits  of  a  vigorous  mind 
are  formed  in  contending  with  difficulties.  All  history  will 
convince  you  of  this,  and  that  wisdom  and  penetration  are 
the  fruit  of  experience,  not  the  lessons  of  retirement  and 
leisure.  Great  necessities  call  out  great  virtues.  When  a 
mind  is  raised  and  animated  by  scenes  that  engage  the  heart, 
then  those  qualities,  which  would  otherwise  lie  dormant,  wake 
into  life  and  form  the  character  of  the  hero  and  statesman. 
War,  tyranny,  and  desolation  are  the  scourges  of  the 
Almighty,  and  ought  no  doubt  to  be  deprecated.  Yet  it  is 
your  lot,  my  son,  to  be  an  eye-witness  of  these  calamities  in 
your  own  native  land,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  owe  your 
existence  among  a  people  who  have  made  a  glorious  defense 
of  their  invaded  liberties,  and  who,  aided  by  a  generous  and 
powerful  ally,  with  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  will  transmit  this 
inheritance  to  ages  yet  unborn. 

"  Nor  ought  it  to  be  one  of  the  least  of  your  incitements 
towards  exerting  every  power  and  faculty  of  your  mind,  that 
you  have  a  parent  who  has  taken  so  large  and  active  a  share 
in  this  contest,  and  discharged  the  trust  reposed  in  him  with 
so  much  satisfaction  as  to  be  honored  with  the  important 
embassy  which  at  present  calls  him  abroad. 

"  The  strict  and  inviolable  regard  you  have  ever  paid  to 
truth  gives  me  pleasing  hopes  that  you  will  not  swerve  from 
her  dictates,  but  add  justice,  fortitude,  and  every  manly  virtue 
which  can  adorn  a  good  citizen,  do  honor  to  your  country, 
and  render  your  parents  supremely  happy,  particularly  your 
ever  aifectionate  mother. 

.     .     .     "The  only  sure  and  permanent  foundation  of 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS.  43 

virtue  is  religion.  Let  this  important  truth  be  engraven  upon 
your  heart.  And  also,  that  the  foundation  of  religion  is  the 
belief  of  the  one  only  God,  and  a  just  sense  of  his  attributes, 
as  a  being  infinitely  wise,  just,  and  good,  to  whom  you  owe 
the  highest  reverence,  gratitude,  and  adoration;  who  super- 
intends and  governs  all  nature,  even  to  clothing  the  lilies  of 
the  field,  and  hearing  the  young  ravens  when  they  cry;  but 
more  particularly  regards  man,  whom  he  created  after  his 
own  image,  and  breathed  into  him  an  immortal  spirit,  capable 
of  a  happiness  beyond  the  grave ;  for  the  attainment  of  which 
he  is  bound  to  the  performance  of  certain  duties,  which  all 
tend  to  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  society,  and  are  com- 
prised in  one  short  sentence,  expressive  of  universal  benevo- 
lence, '  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself/  .  .  . 

"Justice,  humanity,  and  benevolence,  are  the  duties  you 
owe  to  society  in  general.  To  your  country  the  same  duties 
are  incumbent  upon  you,  with  the  additional  obligation  of 
sacrificing  ease,  pleasure,  wealth,  and  life  itself  for  its  defense 
and  security.  To  your  parents  you  owe  love,  reverence,  and 
obedience  to  all  just  and  equitable  commands.  To  yourself, — 
here,  indeed,  is  a  wide  field  to  expatiate  upon.  To  become 
what  you  ought  to  be,  and  what  a  fond  mother  wishes  to  see 
you,  attend  to  some  precepts  and  instructions  from  the  pen 
of  one  who  can  have  no  motive  but  your  welfare  and  happi- 
ness, and  who  wishes  in  this  way  to  supply  to  you  the  personal 
watchfulness  and  care  which  a  separation  from  you  deprived 
you  of  at  a  period  of  life  when  habits  are  easiest  acquired 
and  fixed ;  and  though  the  advice  may  not  be  new,  yet  suifer 
it  to  obtain  a  place  in  your  memory,  for  occasions  may  offer, 
and  perhaps  some  concurring  circumstances  unite,  to  give  it 
weight  and  force. 

"  Suffer  me  to  recommend  to  you  one  of  the  most  use- 
ful lessons  of  life — the  knowledge  and  study  of  yourself. 


44  BRAVE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

There  you  run  the  greatest  hazard  of  being  deceived.  Self- 
love  and  partiality  cast  a  mist  before  the  eyes,  and  there  is 
no  knowledge  so  hard  to  be  acquired,  nor  of  more  benefit 
when  once  thoroughly  understood.  Ungoverned  passions 
have  aptly  been  compared  to  the  boisterous  ocean,  which  is 
known  to  produce  the  most  terrible  effects.  'Passions  are 
the  elements  of  life/  but  elements  which  are  subject  to 
the  control  of  reason.  Whoever  will  candidly  examine 
themselves,  will  find  some  degree  of  passion,  peevishness,  or 
obstinacy  in  their  natural  tempers.  You  will  seldom  find 
these  disagreeable  ingredients  all  united  in  one;  but  the 
uncontrolled  indulgence  of  either  is  sufficient  to  render  the 
possessor  unhappy  in  himself,  and  disagreeable  to  all  who 
are  so  unhappy  as  to  be  witnesses  of  it,  or  suffer  from  its 
effects. 

"  You,  my  dear  son,  are  formed  with  a  constitution  feel- 
ingly alive;  your  passions  are  strong  and  impetuous;  and, 
though  I  have  sometimes  seen  them  hurry  you  into  excesses, 
yet  with  pleasure  I  have  observed  a  frankness  and  gener- 
osity accompany  your  efforts  to  govern  and  subdue  them.  Few 
persons  are  so  subject  to  passion  but  that  they  can  command 
themselves  when  they  have  a  motive  sufficiently  strong ;  and 
those  who  are  most  apt  to  transgress  will  restrain  them- 
selves through  respect  and  reverence  to  superiors,  and  even, 
where  they  wish  to  recommend  themselves,  to  their  equals. 
The  due  government  of  the  passions  has  been  considered  in 
all  ages  as  a  most  valuable  acquisition.  Hence  an  inspired 
writer  observes,  '  He  that  is  slow  to  anger  is  better  than  the 
mighty ;  and  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  than  taketh  a 
city.'  This  passion,  co-operating  with  power,  and  unre- 
strained by  reason,  has  produced  the  subversion  of  cities, 
the  desolation  of  countries,  the  massacre  of  nations,  and 
filled  the  world  with  injustice  and  oppression.  Behold  your 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS.  45 

own  country,  your  native  land,  suffering  from  the  effects  of 
lawless  power  and  malignant  passions,  and  learn  betimes, 
from  your  own  observation  and  experience,  to  govern  and 
control  yourself.  Having  once  obtained  this  self-govern- 
ment, you  will  find  a  foundation  laid  for  happiness  to  your- 
self and  usefulness  to  mankind.  '  Virtue  alone  is  happiness 
below;'  and  consists  in  cultivating  and  improving  every 
good  inclination,  and  in  checking  and  subduing  every  pro- 
pensity to  evil.  I  have  been  particular  upon  the  passion 
of  anger,  as  it  is  generally  the  most  predominant  passion  at 
your  age,  the  soonest  excited,  and  the  least  pains  are  taken 
to  subdue  it; 

'  What  composes  man.  can  man  destroy.'  " 

With  such  a  mother  to  counsel  him,  one  is  led  to  ask, 
how  could  John  Quiiicy  Adams  help  becoming  a  noble- 
minded  and  great  man?  Who  wonders  that,  with  good 
natural  endowments  and  his  excellent  privileges,  coupled 
with  maternal  training,  he  fitted  himself  to  fill  the  highest 
office  in  the  gift  of  a  free  people? 

In  June,  1784,  Mrs.  Adams  sailed  for  London,  to  join 
her  husband,  who  was  then  our  Minister  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  "While  absent,  she  visited  France  and  Netherlands; 
resided  for  a  time  in  the  former  country ;  and  returned  with 
her  knowledge  of  human  nature,  of  men,  manners,  etc.,  en- 
larged; disgusted  with  the  splendor  and  sophistications  of 
royalty,  and  well  prepared  to  appreciate  the  republican  sim- 
plicity and  frankness  of  which  she  was  herself  a  model. 
While  Mr.  Adams  was  Vice-president  and  President,  she 
never  laid  aside  her  singleness  of  heart  and  that  sincerity 
and  unaffected  dignity  which  had  won  for  her  many  friends 
before  her  elevation,  and  which,  in  spite  of  national  ani- 
mosity, conquered  the  prejudices  and  gained  the  heart  of 
the  aristocracy  of  Great  Britain.  But  her  crowning  virtue 


46  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

was  her  Christian  humility,  which  is  beautifully  exempli- 
fied in  a  letter  which  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Adams,  on  the  8th 
of  February,  1797,  "the  day  on  which  the  votes  for  Presi- 
dent were  counted,  and  Mr.  Adams,  as  Vice-president,  was 
required  by  law  to  announce  himself  the  President  elect 
for  the  ensuing  term:" 

" '  The  sun  is  dressed  in  brightest  beams, 
To  give  thy  honors  to  the  day.' 

"And  may  it  prove  an  auspicious  prelude  to  each  en- 
suing season.  You  have  this  day  to  declare  yourself 
head  of  a  nation.  'And  now,  O  Lord,  my  God,  thou  hast 
made  thy  servant  ruler  over  the  people.  Give  unto  him  an 
understanding  heart,  that  he  may  know  how  to  go  out  and  come 
in  before  this  great  people;  that  he  may  discern  between 
good  and  bad.  For  who  is  able  to  judge  this  thy  so  great 
a  people?'  were  the  words  of  a  royal  sovereign;  and  not 
less  applicable  to  him  who  is  invested  with  the  chief  magis- 
tracy of  a  nation,  though  he  wear  not  a  crown  nor  the 
robes  of  royalty. 

"  My  thoughts  and  my  meditations  are  with  you,  though 
personally  absent;  and  my  petitions  to  Heaven  are,  that  'the 
things  which  make  for  peace  may  not  be  hidden  from  your 
eyes.'  My  feelings  are  not  those  of  pride  or  ostentation,  upon 
the  occasion.  They  are  solemnized  by  a  sense  of  the  obliga- 
tions, the  important  trusts,  and  numerous  duties  connected 
with  it.  That  you  may  be  enabled  to  discharge  them  with 
honor  to  yourself,  with  justice  and  impartiality  to  your 
country,  and  with  satisfaction  to  this  great  people,  shall  be 
the  daily  prayer  of  your  A.  A." 

From  her  husband's  retirement  from  the  Presidency  in 
1801,  to  the  close  of  her  life  in  1818,  Mrs.  Adams  remained 
constantly  at  Quincy.  Cheerful,  contented,  and  happy,  she 
devoted  her  last  years,  in  that  rural  seclusion,  to  the  reci- 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS.  47 

procities  of  friendship  and  love,  to  offices  of  kindness  and 
charity,  and,  in  short,  to  all  those  duties  which  tend  to 
ripen  the  Christian  for  an  exchange  of  worlds. 

But  it  would  be  doing  injustice  to  her  character  and 
leaving  one  of  her  noblest  deeds  unrecorded,  to  close  with- 
out mentioning  the  influence  for  good  which  she  exerted 
over  Mr.  Adams,  and  her  part  in  the  work  of  making  him 
what  he  was.  That  he  was  sensible  of  the  benignant  influ- 
ence of  wives,  may  be  gathered  from  the  following  letter, 
which  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Adams  from  Philadelphia,  on 
the  llth  of  August,  1777: 

"  I  think  I  have  sometimes  observed  to  you  in  conversa- 
tion, that  upon  examining  the  biography  of  illustrious  men? 
you  will  generally  find  some  female  about  them,  in  the  re- 
lation of  mother  or  wife  or  sister,  to  whose  instigation  a 
great  part  of  their  merit  is  to  be  ascribed.  You  will  find  a 
curious  example  of  this  in  the  case  of  Aspasia,  the  wife  of 
Pericles.  She  was  a  woman  of  the  greatest  beauty  and  the 
first  genius.  She  taught  him,  it  is  said,  his  refined  maxims 
of  policy,  his  lofty  imperial  eloquence,  nay,  even  composed 
the  speeches  on  which  so  great  a  share  of  his  reputation 
was  founded. 

"  I  wish  some  of  our  great  men  had  such  wives.  By  the 
account  in  your  last  letter,  it  seems  the  women  in  Boston 
begin  to  think  themselves  able  to  serve  their  country. 
What  a  pity  it  is  that  our  generals  in  the  northern  districts 
had  not  Aspasias  to  their  wives ! 

"  I  believe  the  two  Howes  have  not  very  great  women 
to  their  wives.  If  they  had,  we  should  suffer  more  from 
their  exertions  than  we  do.  This  is  our  good  fortune.  A 
smart  wife  would  have  put  Howe  in  possession  of  Philadel- 
phia a  long  time  ago." 

While  Mr.  Adams  was  wishing  that   some  of  our  great 


48  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

men  had  such  wives  as  Aspasia,  he  had  such  a  wife,  was 
himself  such  a  man,  and  owed  half  his  greatness  to  his 
Aspasia.  The  exalted  patriotism  and  cheerful  piety  infused 
into  the  letters  she  addressed  to  him  during  the  long  night  of 
political  uncertainty  that  hung  over  the  country,  strengthened 
his  courage,  fired  his  nobler  feelings,  nerved  his  higher  pur- 
poses, and,  doubtless,  greatly  contributed  to  make  him  one  of 
the  chief  pillars  of  the  young  republic.  All  honor  to  a 
brave  wife,  and  not  less  heroic  mother.  If  her  husband  and 
son  kept  the  ship  of  state  from  the  rocks,  the  light  which 
guided  them  was  largely  from  her. 

Heroic  wife  and  mother, 
Whose  days  were  toil  and  grace, 
Thy  glory  gleams  for  many  another, 
And  shines  in  many  a  face. 

The  heart,  as  of  a  nation, 
Throbs  with  thy  tender  love  ; 
And  all  our  drama  of  salvation 
Thou  watchest  from  above. 

Our  days,  which  yet  are  evil, 
And  only  free  in  part, 
Have  need  of  things  with  Heaven  co-eval, 
Of  Faith's  unbounded  heart. 

God  grant  the  times  approaching 
Be  full  of  glad  events, 
Ho  unheroic  aims  reproaching 
Our  line  of  Presidents. 


V. 


WHAT  THEY  GOT   OUT  OF  LIFE. 


T  was  just  two  o'clock  of  one  of  the  warmest  of 
the  July  afternoons.  Mrs.  Hill  had  her  dinner 
all  over,  had  put  on  her  clean  cap  and  apron,  and 
was  sitting  on  the  north  porch,  making  an  un- 
bleached cotton  shirt  for  Mr.  Peter  Hill,  who  always  wore 
unbleached  shirts  at  harvest-time.  Mrs.  Hill  was  a  thrifty 
housewife.  She  had  pursued  this  economical  avocation  for 
some  little  time,  interrupting  herself  only  at  times  to  "  shu!" 
away  the  flocks  of  half-grown  chickens  that  came  noisily 
about  the  door  for  the  crumbs  from  the  table-cloth,  when  the 
sudden  shutting  down  of  a  great  blue  cotton  umbrella  caused 
her  to  drop  her  work,  and  exclaim : 

"Well,  now,  Mrs.  Troost!  who  would  have  thought  you 
ever  would  come  to  see  me !" 

"Why,  I  have  thought  a  great  many  times  I  would  come," 
said  the  visitor,  stamping  her  little  feet — for  she  was  a  little 
woman — briskly  on  the  blue  flag-stones,  and  then  dusting 
them  nicely  with  her  white  cambric  handkerchief,  before 
venturing  on  the  snowy  floor  of  Mrs.  Hill.  And,  shaking 
hands,  she  added,  "  It  has  been  a  good  while,  for  I  remember 
when  I  was  here  last  I  had  my  Jane  with  me — quite  a  baby 
then,  if  you  mind — and  she  is  three  years  old  now." 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  Mrs.  Hill,  untying  the  bonnet- 
strings  of  her  neighbor,  who  sighed  as  she  continued,  "Yes, 
she  was  three  along  in  February;"  and  she  sighed  again, 
more  heavily  than  before,  though  there  was  no  earthly  reason 

4  49 


50  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

that  I  know  of  why  she  should  sigh,  unless,  perhaps,  the 
flight  of  time,  thus  brought  to  mind,  suggested  the  transitory 
nature  of  human  things. 

Mrs.  Hill  laid  the  bonnet  of  Mrs.  Troost  on  her  "  spare 
bed,"  and  covered  it  with  a  little  pale-blue  crape  shawl,  kept 
especially  for  such  occasions ;  and,  taking  from  the  drawer  of 
the  bureau  a  large  fan  of  turkey  feathers,  she  presented  it  to 
her  guest,  saying,  "A  very  warm  day,  is  n't  it?" 

"  O,  dreadful,  dreadful !  It  seems  as  hot  as  a  bake  oven ; 
and  I  suffer  with  the  heat  all  Summer,  more  or  less.  But  it  Js 
a  world  of  suffering ;"  and  Mrs.  Troost  half  closed  her  eyes, 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  terrible  reality. 

"Hay-making  requires  sunshiny  weather,  you  know;  so 
we  must  put  up  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hill ;  "  besides,  I  can 
mostly  find  some  cool  place  about  the  house ;  I  keep  my  sew- 
ing here  on  the  porch,  and,  as  I  bake  my  bread  or  cook  my 
dinner,  manage  to  catch  it  up  sometimes,  and  so  keep  from 
getting  overheated ;  and  then,  too,  I  get  a  good  many  stitches 
taken  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

"This  is  a  nice  cool  place — completely  curtained  with 
vines,"  said  Mrs.  Troost ;  and  she  sighed  again.  "  They  must 
have  cost  you  a  great  deal  of  pains." 

"  O,  no !  no  trouble  at  all ;  morning-glories  grow  them- 
selves ;  they  only  require  to  be  planted.  I  will  save  seed  for 
you  this  Fall,  and  next  Summer  you  can  have  your  porch  as 
shady  as  mine." 

"And  if  I  do,  it  would  not  signify,"  said  Mrs.  Troost; 
"I  never  get  time  to  sit  down  from  one  week's  end  to  an- 
other ;  besides,  I  never  had  any  luck  with  vines.  Some  folks 
do  n't,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Hill  was  a  woman  of  a  short,  plethoric  habit;  one 
that  might  be  supposed  to  move  about  with  little  agility, 
and  to  find  excessive  warmth  rather  inconvenient;  but  she 


TWO  NEIGHBORS.  51 

was  of  a  happy,  cheerful  temperament;  and  when  it  rained 
she  tucked  up  her  skirts,  put  on  thick  shoes,  and  waddled 
about  the  same  as  ever,  saying  to  herself,  "This  will  make 
the  grass  grow,"  or,  "It  will  bring  on  the  radishes,"  or 
something  else  equally  consolatory. 

Mrs.  Troost,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  little  thin  woman, 
who  looked  as  though  she  could  move  about  nimbly  at  any 
season ;  but,  as  she  herself  often  said,  she  was  a  poor,  unfor- 
tunate creature,  and  pitied  herself  a  great  deal,  as  she  was 
in  justice  bound  to  do,  for  nobody  else  cared,  she  said,  how 
much  she  had  to  bear. 

They  were  near  neighbors,  these  good  women,  but  their 
social  interchanges  of  tea-drinking  were  not  of  very  frequent 
occurrence,  for  sometimes  Mrs.  Troost  had  nothing  to  wear 
like  other  folks;  sometimes  it  was  too  hot  and  sometimes  it 
was  too  cold;  and  then,  again,  nobody  wanted  to  .see  her, 
and  she  was  sure  she  did  n't  want  to  go  where  she  was  n't 
wanted.     Moreover,  she  had  such  a  great  barn  of  a  house  as 
no  other  woman  ever  had  to  take  care  of.     But  in  all  the 
neighborhood  it  was  called  the  big  house,  so  Mrs.  Troost 
was  in  some  measure  compensated  for  the  pains  it  cost  her. 
It  was,  however,  as  she  said,  a  barn  of  a  place,  with  half  the 
rooms  unfurnished,  partly  because  they  had  no  use  for  them, 
and  partly  because  they  were  unable  to  get  furniture.     So 
it   stood    right   in   the   sun,  with   no  shutters,  and  no  trees 
about  it,  and  Mrs.  Troost  said  she  did  n't  suppose  it  ever 
would  have.     She  was  always  opposed  to  building  it;  but 
she   never  had   her  way  about  any  thing.      Nevertheless, 
some  people  said  Mr.  Troost  had  taken  the  dimensions  of 
his  house  with  his  wife's  apron-strings — but  that  may  have 
been  slander. 

While   Mrs.  Troost  sat  sighing  over  things  in  general, 
Mrs.  Hill  sewed  on  the  last  button,  and,  shaking  the  loose 


52  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

threads  from  the  completed  garment,  held  it  up  a  moment 
to  take  a  satisfactory  view,  as  it  were,  and  folded  it  away. 

"  Well,  did  you  ever !"  said  Mrs.  Troost.  "  You  have 
made  half  a  shirt,  and  I  have  got  nothing  at  all  done.  My 
hands  sweat  so  I  can  not  use  the  needle,  and  it 's  no  use 
to  try." 

"Lay  down  your  work  for  a  little  while,  and  we  will 
walk  in  the  garden." 

So  Mrs.  Hill  threw  a  towel  over  her  head,  and,  taking  a 
little  tin  basin  in  her  hand,  the  two  went  to  the  garden — 
Mrs.  Troost  under  the  shelter  of  the  blue  umbrella,  which 
she  said  was  so  heavy  that  it  was  worse  than  nothing. 
Beans,  radishes,  raspberries,  and  currants,  besides  many 
other  things,  were  there  in  profusion,  and  Mrs.  Troost  said 
every  thing  flourished  for  Mrs.  Hill,  while  her  garden  was 
all  choked  up  with  weeds.  "And  you  have  bees,  too — 
do  n't  they  sting  the  children,  and  give  you  a  great  deal 
of  trouble?  Along  in  May,  I  guess  it  was,  Troost  [Mrs. 
Troost  always  called  her  husband  so]  bought  a  hive,  or, 
rather,  he  traded  a  calf  for  one — a  nice,  likely  calf,  too,  it 
was — and  they  never  did  us  a  bit  of  good;"  and  the  un- 
happy woman  sighed. 

"They  do  say,"  said  Mrs.  Hill,  sympathizingly,  "that 
bees  won't  work  for  some  folks;  in  case  their  king  dies  they 
are  very  likely  to  quarrel  and  not  do  well;  but  we  have 
never  had  any  ill  luck  with  ours;  and  we  last  year  sold 
forty  dollars'  worth  of  honey,  besides  having  all  we  wanted 
for  our  own  use.  Did  yours  die  off,  or  what,  Mrs.  Troost?" 

"  Why,"  said  the  ill-natured  visitor,  "  my  oldest  boy  got 
stung  one  day,  and  being  angry,  upset  the  hive,  and  I  never 
found  it  out  for  two  or  three  days;  and,  sending  Troost  to 
put  it  up  in  its  place,  there  was  not  a  bee  to  be  found  high 
or  low." 


TWO  NEIGHBORS.  53 

"You  don't  tell!  the  obstinate  little  creatures!  But  they 
must  be  treated  kindly,  and  I  have  heard  of  their  going  off 
for  less  things." 

The  basin  was  by  this  time  filled  with  currants,  and  they 
returned  to  the  house.  Mrs.  Hill,  seating  herself  on  the  sill 
of  the  kitchen  door,  began  to  prepare  her  fruit  for  tea,  while 
Mrs.  Troost  drew  her  chair  near,  saying,  "Did  you  ever 
hear  about  William  McMicken's  bees?" 

Mrs.  Hill  had  never  heard,  and,  expressing  an  anxiety 
to  do  so,  was  told  the  following  story: 

"His  wife,  you  know,  was  she  that  was  Sally  May,  and 
it 's  an  old  saying — 

'  To  change  the  name  and  not  the  letter, 
You  marry  for  worse  and  not  for  better.' 

"  Sally  was  a  dressy,  extravagant  girl ;  she  had  her  bon- 
net f  done  up '  twice  a  year  always,  and  there  was  no  end  to 
her  frocks  and  ribbons  and  fine  things.  Her  mother  in- 
dulged her  in  every  thing;  she  used  to  say  Sally  deserved 
all  she  got;  that  she  was  worth  her  weight  in  gold.  She 
used  to  go  everywhere,  Sally  did.  There  was  no  big  meet- 
ing that  she  was  not  at,  and  no  quilting  that  she  didn't 
help  to  get  up.  All  the  girls  went  to  her  for  the  fashions, 
for  she  was  a  good  deal  in  town  at  her  Aunt  Hanner's,  and 
always  brought  out  the  new  patterns.  She  used  to  have 
her  sleeves  a  little  bigger  than  anybody  else,  you  remember, 
and  then  she  wore  great  stiffeners  in  them — la,  me!  there 
was  no  end  to  her  extravagance. 

"  She  had  a  changeable  silk,  yellow  and  blue,  made  with 
a  surplus  front ;  and  when  she  wore  that,  the  ground  was  n't 
good  enough  for  her  to  walk  on,  so  some  folks  used  to  say; 
but  I  never  thought  Sally  was  a  bit  proud  or  lifted  up; 
and  if  any  body  was  sick  there  was  no  better-hearted  crea- 


54  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ture  than  she;  and  then,  she  was  always  good-natured  as 
the  day  was  long,  and  would  sing  all  the  time  at  her  work. 
I  remember,  along  before  she  was  married,  she  used  to  sing 
one  song  a  great  deal,  beginning 

'I've  got  a  sweetheart  with  bright  black  eyes;' 

and  they  said  she  meant  William  McMicken  by  that,  and 
that  she  might  not  get  him  after  all — for  a  good  many 
thought  they  would  never  make  a  match,  their  dispositions 
were  so  contrary.  William  was  of  a  dreadful  quiet  turn, 
and  a  great  home  body ;  and  as  for  being  rich,  he  had  nothing 
to  brag  of,  though  he  was  high  larnt  and  followed  the  river 
as  clark  sometimes." 

Mrs.  Hill  had  by  this  time  prepared  her  currants,  and 
Mrs.  Troost  paused  from  her  story  while  she  filled  the  kettle 
and  attached  the  towel  to  the  end  of  the  Avell-sweep,  where 
it  waved  as  a  signal  for  Peter  to  come  to  supper. 

"Now,  just  move  your  chair  a  leetle  nearer  the  kitchen 
door,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Hill,  "and  I  can  make  up 
my  biscuit  and  hear  you,  too." 

Meantime,  coming  to  the  door  with  some  bread-crumbs 
in  her  hands,  she  began  scattering  them  on  the  ground  and 
calling,  "Biddy,  biddy,  biddy — chicky,  chicky,  chicky" — 
hearing  which,  a  whole  flock  of  poultry  was  around  her  in 
a  minute ;  and,  stooping  down,  she  secured  one  of  the  fattest, 
which,  an  hour  afterward,  was  broiled  for  supper. 

"  Dear  me,  how  easily  you  get  along !"  said  Mrs.  Troost. 

And  it  was  some  time  before  she  could  compose  herself 
sufficiently  to  take  up  the  thread  of  her  story.  At  length, 
however,  she  began  with — 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  nobody  thought  William  Mc- 
Micken would  marry  Sally  May.  Poor  man !  they  say  he  is 
not  like  himself  any  more.  He  may  get  a  dozen  wives,  but 


TWO.  NEIGHBORS.  55 

he'll  never  get  another  Sally.  A  good  wife  she  made  him, 
for  all  she  was  such  a  wild  girl. 

"The  old  man  May  was  opposed  to  the  marriage,  and 
threatened  to  turn  Sally,  his  own  daughter,  out  of  house  and 
home;  but  she  was  headstrong,  and  would  marry  whom  she 
pleased;  and  so  she  did,  though  she  never  got  a  stitch  of 
new  clothes,  nor  one  thing  to  keep  house  with.  No;  not 
one  single  thing  did  her  father  give  her  when  she  went 
away  but  a  hive  of  bees.  He  was  right  down  ugly,  and 
called  her  Mrs.  McMicken  whenever  he  spoke  to  her  after 
she  was  married;  but  Sally  didn't  seem  to  mind  it,  and 
took  just  as  good  care  of  the  bees  as  though  they  were  worth 
'a  thousand  dollars.  Every  day  in  Winter  she  used  to  feed 
them — maple-sugar,  if  she  had  it;  and  if  she  had  not,  a 
little  Muscovade  in  a  saucer  or  some  old  broken  dish. 

"But  it  happened  one  day  that  a  bee  stung  her  on  the 
hand — the  right  one,  I  think  it  was — and  Sally  said  right 
away  that  it  was  a  bad  sign ;  and  that  very  night  she  dreamed 
that  she  went  out  to  feed  her  bees,  and  a  piece  of  black 
crape  was  tied  on  the  hive.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  token  of 
death,  and  told  her  husband  so,  and  she  told  me  and  Mrs. 
Hanks.  No,  I  won't  be  sure  she  told  Mrs.  Hanks,  but 
Mrs.  Hanks  got  to  hear  it  some  way." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Hill,  wiping  the  tears  away  with  her 
apron,  "I  really  didn't  know,  till  now,  that  poor  Mrs. 
McMicken  was  dead." 

"O,  she  is  not  dead,"  answered  Mrs.  Troost,  "but  as 
well  as  she  ever  was,  only  she  feels  that  she  is  not  long  for 
this  world."  The  painful  interest  of  her  story,  however, 
had  kept  her  from  work,  so  the  afternoon  passed  without 
her  having  accomplished  much — she  never  could  work  when 
she  went  visiting. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Hill  had  prepared  a  delightful  supper, 


56  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

without  seeming  to  give  herself  the  least  trouble.  Peter 
came  precisely  at  the  right  moment,  and,  as  he  drew  a  pail 
of  water,  removed  the  towel  from  the  well-sweep,  easily  and 
naturally,  thus  saving  his  wife  the  trouble. 

"  Troost  would  never  have  thought  of  it,"  said  his  wife  ; 
and  she  finished  with  an  "Ah,  well !"  as  though  all  her  trib- 
ulations would  be  over  before  long. 

As  she  partook  of  the  delicious  honey  she  was  reminded 
of  her  own  upset  hive;  and  the  crispred  radishes  brought 
thoughts  of  the  weedy  garden  at  home ;  so  that,  on  the  whole, 
her  visit,  she  said,  made  her  perfectly  wretched,  and  she 
should  have  no  heart  for  a  week;  nor  did  the  little  basket 
of  extra  nice  fruit  which  Mrs.  Hill  presented  her  as  she  was 
about  to  take  leave  heighten  her  spirits  in  the  least.  Her 
great  heavy  umbrella,  she  said,  was  burden  enough  for  her. 

"But  Peter  will  take  you  in  the  carriage,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Hill. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Troost,  as  though  charity  was  offered 
her;  "it  will  be  more  trouble  to  get  in  and  out  than  to 
walk" — and  so  she  trudged  home,  saying,  "Some  folks  are 
born  to  be  lucky." 


VI. 

H0RKGE  GREELEY. 


(BORN  1811— DIED  1872.) 
THE  MOLDER  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION— THE  BRAVE  JOURNALIST. 


|R.  GREELEY  lived  through  the  most  eventful 
era  in  our  public  history  since  the  adoption  of  the 
Federal  Constitution.  For  the  eighteen  years  be- 
tween the  formation  of  the  Republican  party,  in 
1854,  and  his  sudden  death  in  1872,  the  stupendous  civil 
convulsions  through  which  we  have  passed  have  merely 
translated  into  acts,  and  recorded  in  our  annals,  the  fruits 
of  his  thinking  and  the  strenuous  vehemence  of  his  moral 
convictions.  Whether  he  was  right  or  wrong,  is  a  question 
on  which  opinions  will  differ;  but  no  person  conversant 
with  our  history  will  dispute  the  influence  which  this  re- 
markable and  singularly  endowed  man  has  exerted  in  shap- 
ing the  great  events  of  our  time.  Whatever  may  be  the 
ultimate  judgment  of  other  classes  of  his  countrymen  re- 
specting the  real  value  of  his  services,  the  colored  race, 
when  it  becomes  sufficiently  educated  to  appreciate  his 
career,  must  always  recognize  him  as  the  chief  author  of 
their  emancipation  from  slavery  and  their  equal  citizenship. 
Mr.  Lincoln,  to  whom  their  ignorance  as  yet  gives  the  chief 
credit,  was  a  chip  tossed  on  the  surface  of  a  resistless  wave. 

THE  MOLDER  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION. 

It  was  Mr.  Greeley,  more  than  any  other  man,  who  let 
loose  the  winds  that  lifted  the  waters  and  drove  forward 
their  foaming,  tumbling  billows.  Mr.  Greeley  had  lent  his 

57 


58  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

hand  to  stir  public  feeling  to  its  profoundest  depths  before 
Mr.  Lincoln's  election  became  possible.  He  contributed 
more  than  any  other  man  to  defeat  the  compromise  and  set- 
tlement for  which  Mr.  Lincoln  and  his  chief  adviser,  Mr. 
Seward,  were  anxious  in  the  exciting,  expectant  Winter  of 
1860-61,  and  to  precipitate  an  avoidable  bloody  war.  It 
was  he,  carrying  a  majority  of  the  Republican  party  with 
him,  who  kept  insisting,  in  the  early  stages  of  the  conflict, 
that  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves  was  an  indispensable 
element  of  success.  Mr.  Lincoln  stood  out  and  resisted, 
ridiculing  an  emancipation  proclamation  as  'a  bull  against 
the  comet.'  Mr.  Greeley  roused  the  Republican  party  by 
that  remarkable  leader  signed  by  his  name  and  addressed  to 
Mr.  Lincoln,  headed  ( The  Prayer  of  Twenty  Millions/  the 
effect  of  which  the  President  tried  to  parry  by  a  public 
letter  to  the  editor  of  the'  Tribune,  written  with  all  the  dex- 
terous ingenuity  and  telling  aptness  of  phrase  of  which  Mr. 
Lincoln  was  so  great  a  master.  But  Mr.  Greeley  victori- 
ously carried  the  Republican  party,  which  he  had  done 
more  than  all  other  men  to  form,  with  him ;  and  within  two 
months  after  Mr.  Lincoln's  reply  to  l  The  Prayer  of  Twenty 
Millions,'  his  reluctance  was  overborne,  and  he  was  con- 
strained to  issue  his  celebrated  Proclamation,  which  com- 
mitted the  Government  to  emancipation,  and  staked  the 
success  of  the  war  on  that  issue.  This  culminating  achieve- 
ment, the  greatest  of  Mr.  Greeley's  life,  is  the  most  signal 
demonstration  of  his  talents.  It  was  no  sudden,  random 
stroke.  It  was  the  effect  of  an  accumulated,  ever-rising, 
widening,  deepening  stream  of  influence,  which  had  been 
gathering  volume  and  momentum  for  years,  and  whose  pil- 
ing waters  at  last  burst  through  and  bore  down  every 
barrier.  Mr.  Greeley  had  long  been  doing  all  in  his  power 
to  swell  the  tide  of  popular  feeling  against  slavery,  and  it 


HORACE  GREELEY.  59 

was  chiefly  in  consequence  of  the  tremendous  force  he  had 
given  to  the  movement  that  that  barbarous  institution  was 
at  last  swept  away.  It  is  the  most  extraordinary  revolution 
ever  accomplished  by  a  single  mind  with  no  other  instru- 
ment than  a  public  journal. 

It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Greeley  had  many  zeal- 
ous coadjutors.  But  so  had  Luther  able  coadjutors  in  the 
Protestant  Reformation;  so  had  Cromwell  in  the  Common- 
wealth ;  so  had  Washington  in  our  Revolution ;  so  had  Cob- 
den  in  the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws.  They  are  nevertheless 
regarded  as  the  leading  minds  in  the  respective  innovations 
which  they  championed;  and  by  as  just  a  title  Mr.  Greeley 
will  hold  the  first  place  with  posterity  on  the  roll  of  eman- 
cipation. This  is  the  light  in  which  he  will  be  remembered 
so  long  as  the  history  of  our  times  shall  be  read. 

It  may  be  said,  again,  that  Mr.  Greeley's  efforts  in  this 
direction  were  aided  by  the  tendencies  of  his  time.  But  so 
were  Luther's,  and  Cromwell's,  and  Washington's,  and 
everybody's  who  has  left  a  great  mark  on  his  age,  and -ac- 
complished things  full  of  consequences  to  future  generations. 
The  first  qualification  for  exerting  this  kind  of  fruitful  in- 
fluence is  for  the  leader  to  be  in  complete  sympathy  with 
the  developing  tendencies  of  his  own  epoch.  This  is  nec- 
essary to  make  him  the  embodiment  of  its  spirit,  the  rep- 
resentative of  its  ideas,  the  quickener  of  its  passions,  the 
reviver  of  its  courage  in  adverse  turns  of  fortune,  the  cen- 
tral mind  whom  other  advocates  of  the  cause  consult,  whose 
action  they  watch  in  every  new  emergency,  and  whose  guid- 
ance they  follow  because  he  has  resolute,  unflagging  confi- 
dence to  lead.  In  the  controversies  in  which  Mr.  Greeley 
has  been  behind  his  age,  or  stood  against  the  march  of 
progress,  even  he  has  accomplished  little.  Since  Henry 
Clay's  death,  he  has  been  the  most  noted  and  active  cham- 


60  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

pion  of  Protection;  but  that  cause  steadily  declined  until 
the  war  forced  the  government  to  strain  every  source  of  rev- 
enue, and  since  the  close  of  the  war  free-trade  ideas  have 
made  surprising  advances  in  Mr.  Greeley's  own  political  party. 
On  this  subject  he  was  the  disciple  of  dead  masters,  and  hung 
to  the  skirts  of  a  receding  cause;  but  in  this  school  he  ac- 
quired that  dexterity  in  handling  the  weapons  of  contro- 
versy which  proved  so  effective  when  he  advanced  from  the 
position  of  a  disciple  to  that  of  a  master,  and  led  a  move- 
ment in  the  direction  towards  which  the  rising  popular  feel- 
ing was  tending.  Mr.  Greeley's  name  will  always  be 
identified  with  the  extirpation  of  negro  slavery  as  its  most 
distinguished,  powerful,  and  effective  advocate. 

THE  BRAVE  JOURNALIST. 

This  is  his  valid  title  to  distinction  and  lasting  fame. 
Instrumental  to  this,  and  the  chief  means  of  its  attainment, 
he  founded  a  public  journal  which  grew,  under  his  direction, 
to  be  a  great  moving  force  in  the  politics  and  public  thought 
of  our  time.  This  alone  would  have  attested  his  energy  and 
abilities ;  but  this  is  secondary  praise.  It  is  the  use  he  made 
of  his  journal  when  he  had  created  it,  the  moral  ends  to 
which  (besides  making  it  a  vehicle  of  news  and  the  discussion 
of  ephemeral  topics)  he  devoted  it,  that  will  give  him  his 
peculiar  place  in  history.  If  he  had  had  no  higher  aim  than 
to  supply  the  market  for  current  intelligence,  as  a  great 
merchant  supplies  the  market  for  dry-goods,  he  would  have 
deserved  to  rank  with  the  builders-up  of  other  prosperous 
establishments  by  which  passing  contemporary  wants  were 
supplied,  but  would  have  had  no  claim  on  the  remembrance 
of  coming  generations.  But  he  regarded  his  journal  not 
primarily  as  a  property,  but  as  the  instrument  of  high  moral 
and  political  ends;  an  instrument  whose  great  potency  for 


HORACE  GREELEY.  61 

good  or  ill  he  fully  comprehended,  and  for  whose  salutary 
direction  he  felt  a  corresponding  responsibility.  His  simple 
tastes,  inexpensive  habits,  his  contempt  for  the  social  show 
and  parade  which  are  the  chief  use  made  of  wealth,  and  the 
absorption  of  his  mind  in  other  aims,  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  think  of  the  Tribune  merely  as  a  source  of  income, 
and  he  always  managed  it  mainly  with  a  view  to  make  it  an 
efficient  organ  for  diffusing  opinions  which  he  thought  con- 
ducive to  the  public  welfare.  It  was  this  which  distinguished 
Mr.  Greeley  from  the  founders  of  other  important  journals, 
who  have,  in  recent  years,  been  taken  from  us.  With  him 
the  moral  aim  was  always  paramount,  the  pecuniary  aim 
subordinate.  Journalism,  as  he  looked  upon  it,  was  not  an 
end,  but  a  means  to  higher  ends.  He  may  have  had  many 
mistaken  and  some  erratic  opinions  on  particular  subjects; 
but  the  moral  earnestness  with  which  he  pursued  his  vocation, 
and  his  constant  subordination  of  private  interest  to  public 
objects,  nobly  atone  for  his  occasional  errors. 

Among  the  means  by  which  Mr.  Greeley  gained,  and  so 
long  held,  the  first  place  among  American  journalists,  was  his 
manner  of  writing.  His  negative  merits  as  a  writer  were 
great;  and  it  would  be  surprising  to  find  these  negative 
merits  so  rare  as  to  be  a  title  to  distinction,  if  observation  did 
not  force  the  faults  he  avoided  so  perpetually  upon  our  notice. 
He  had  no  verbiage.  We  do  not  merely  mean  by  this  that 
he  never  used  a  superfluous  word  (which,  in  fact,  he  rarely 
did),  but  that  he  kept  quite  clear  of  the  hazy,  half-relevant 
ideas  which  encumber  meaning  and  are  the  chief  source  of 
prolixity.  He  threw  away  every  idea  that  did  not  decidedly 
help  on  his  argument,  and  expressed  the  others  in  the  fewest 
words  that  would  make  them  clear.  He  began  at  once  where 
the  pith  of  his  argument  began ;  and  had  the  secret,  possessed 
by  few  writers,  of  stopping  the  moment  he  was  done ;  leaving 


62  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

his  readers  no  chaff  to  sift  out  from  the  simple  wheat.  This 
perfect  absence  of  cloudy  irrelevance  and  encumbering  super- 
fluity was  one  source  of  his  popularity  as  a  writer.  His 
readers  had  to  devour  no  husks  to  get  at  the  kernel  of  what 
he  meant. 

Besides  these  negative  recommendations,  Mr.  Greeley's 
style  had  positive  merits  of  a  very  high  order.  The  source 
of  these  was  in  the  native  structure  of  his  mind ;  no  training 
could  have  conferred  them;  and  it  was  his  original  mental 
qualities,  and  not  any  special  culture,  that  pruned  his  writing 
of  verbiage  and  redundancies.  Whatever  he  saw,  he  saw 
with  wonderful  distinctness.  Whether  it  happened  to  be  a 
sound  idea  or  a  crotchet,  it  stood  before  his  mind  with  the 
clearness  of  an  object  in  sunlight.  He  never  groped  at  and 
around  it,  like  one  feeling  in  the  dark.  He  saw  on  which 
side  he  could  lay  hands  on  it  at  once  with  the  firmest  grasp. 
It  was  his  vividness  of  conception  which  made  Mr.  Greeley 
so  clear  and  succinct  a  writer.  He  knew  precisely  what  he 
would  be  at,  and  he  hastened  to  say  it  in  the  fewest  words. 
His  choice  of  language,  though  often  homely,  and  sometimes 
quaint  or  coarse,  was  always  adapted  to  his  purpose.  He  had 
a  great  command  of  racy  phrases  in  common  use,  and  fre- 
quently gave  them  an  unexpected  turn  which  enlivened  his 
style  as  by  a  sudden  stroke  of  wit  or  grotesque  humor.  But 
these  touches  were  rapid,  never  detained  him;  he  kept  grap- 
pling with  his  argument,  and  hurried  on. 

This  peculiar  style  was  aided  by  the  ardor  of  his  feelings 
and  his  vehement  moral  earnestness.  Bent  on  convincing, 
he  tried  to  flash  his  meaning  on  the  minds  of  his  readers  in 
the  readiest  and  manliest  way;  and  he  was  so  impatient  to 
make  them  see  the  full  force  of  his  main  points  that  he 
stripped  them  as  naked  as  he  could.  This  combined  clear- 
ness of  perception,  strength  of  conviction,  and  hurrying  ardor 


HORACE  G  REE  LEY.  63 

of  feeling,  were  the  sources  of  a  style  which  enabled  him  to 
write  more  than  any  other  journalist  of  his  time,  and  yet 
always  command  attention.  But  he  is  a  model  which  none 
can  successfully  imitate  without  his  strongly  marked  indi- 
viduality and  peculiarities  of  mental  structure.  We  have 
mentioned  his  occasional  coarseness;  but  it  was  merely  his 
preference  of  strong  direct  expression  to  dainty  feebleness; 
he  was  never  vulgar. 

Mr.  Greeley  has  contributed  to  the  surprising  growth  and 
development  of  journalism  in  our  time,  chiefly  by  his  suc- 
cessful efforts  to  make  it  a  guide  of  public  opinion,  as  well  as 
a  chronicle  of  important  news.     In  his  hands,  it  was  not 
merely  a  mirror  which  indifferently  reflects  back  the  images 
of  all  objects  on  which  it  is  turned,  but  a  creative  force;  a 
means  of  calling  into  existence  a  public  opinion   powerful 
enough  to  introduce  great  reforms  and  sweep  down  abuses. 
He  had  no   faith   in   purposeless  journalism,  in  journalism 
which  has  so  little  insight  into  the  tendencies  of  the  time  that 
it  shifts  its  view  from  day  to  day  in  accommodation  to  tran- 
sient  popular  caprices.      No   great   object   is  accomplished 
without  constancy  of  purpose,  and  a  guide  of  public  opinion 
can  not  be  constant  unless  he  has  a  deep  and  abiding  convic- 
tion of  the  importance  of  what  he  advocates.     Mr.  Greeley's 
remarkable  power,  when  traced  back  to  its  main  source,  will 
be  found  to  have  consisted  chiefly  in  that  vigorous  earnest- 
ness of  belief  which  held  him  to  the  strenuous  advocacy  of 
measures  which  he  thought  conducive  to  the  public  welfare, 
whether  they  were  temporarily  popular  or  not.     Journalism 
may  perhaps  gain  more  success  as  a  mercantile  speculation 
by  other  methods;  but  it  can  be  respected  as  a  great  moral 
and  political  force  only  in  the  hands  of  men  who  have  the 
talents,  foresight,  and  moral  earnestness  which  fit  them  to 
guide  public  opinion.     It  is  in  this  sense  that  Mr.  Greeley 


64          .  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

was  our  first  journalist,  and  nobody  can  successfully  dispute 
his  rank,  any  more  than  Mr.  Bennett's  could  be  contested 
in  the  kind  that  seeks  to  float  on  the  current  instead  of 
directing  its  course.  The  one  did  most  to  render  our 
American  journals  great  vehicles  of  news,  the  other  to  make 
them  controlling  organs  of  opinion.  Their  survivors  in  the 
profession  have  much  to  learn  from  both. — New  York  World. 

Knight  of  the  ready  pen, 
Soldier  without  a  sword, 
Such  eyes  hadst  thou  for  other  men, 
So  true  and  grand  a  wordl 

As  Caesar  led  his  legions 
Triumphant  over  Gaul, 
And  through  still  wilder,  darker  regions, 
So  thou  didst  lead  us  all ! 

Until  we  saw  the  chains 
Which  bound  our  brothers'  lives, 
And  heard  the  groans  and  felt  the  pains, 
Which  come  from  wearing  gyves. 

To  brave  heroic  men 
The  false  no  more  was  true ; 
And  what  the  Nation  needed  then 
Could  any  soldier  do. 


VII. 


(BORN  1811— DIED  1884.) 

THE    TIMES   WHEN    HE    APPEARED— "  WHO    IS    THIS    FELLOW?"— A 

FLAMING  ADVOCATE  OF  LIBERTY— LIBERTY  OF  SPEECH  AND 

THOUGHT— POWER   TO   DISCERN   THE  RIGHT— THE 

MOB-BEATEN  HERO  TRIUMPHANT. 


"ONG  chapters  of  history  are  illumined  as  by  an 
electric  light  in  the  following  characteristic  address 
from  his  pulpit  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  at  the 
time  the  name   of  the  great  philanthropist  was 
added  to  the  roll  of  American  heroes. 

THE  TIMES  WHEH  HE  APPEARED. 

The  condition  of  the  public  mind  throughout  the  North 
at  the  time  I  came  to  the  consciousness  of  public  affairs  and 
was  studying  my  profession  may  be  described,  in  one  word,  as 
the  condition  of  imprisoned  moral  sense.  All  men,  almost, 
agreed  with  all  men  that  slavery  was  wrong ;  but  what  can 
we  do  ?  The  compromises  of  our  fathers  include  us  and  bind 
us  to  fidelity  to  the  agreements  that  had  been  made  in  the 
formation  of  our  Constitution.  Our  confederation  first,  and 
our  Constitution  after.  These  were  regarded  everywhere  as 
moral  obligations  by  men  that  hated  slavery.  "The  com- 
promises of  the  Constitution  must  be  respected,"  said  the 
priest  in  the  pulpit,  said  the  politician  in  the  field,  said  the 
statesmen  in  public  halls;  and  men  abroad,  in  England  es- 
pecially, could  not  understand  what  was  the  reason  of  the 
hesitancy  of  President  Lincoln  and  of  the  people,  when  they 
had  risen  to  arms,  in  declaring  at  once  the  end  for  which  arms 
were  taken  and  armies  gathered  to  be  the  emancipation  of  the 

5  65 


66  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

il 

slaves.  There  never  has  been  an  instance  in  which,  I  think, 
the  feelings  and  the  moral  sense  of  so  large  a  number  of  peo- 
ple have  been  held  in  check  for  reasons  of  fidelity  to  obliga- 
tions assumed  in  their  behalf.  There  never  has  been  in 
history  another  instance  more  notable,  and  I  am  bound  to 
say,  with  all  its  faults  and  weaknesses,  more  noble.  The 
commercial  question — that  being  the  underlying  moral  ele- 
ment— the  commercial  question  of  the  North  very  soon  be- 
came, on  the  subject  of  slavery,  what  the  industrial  and 
political  question  of  the  South  had  made  it.  It  corrupted 
the  manufacturer  and  the  merchant.  Throughout  the  whole 
North  every  man  that  could  make  any  thing  regarded  the 
South  as  his  legal,  lawful  market ;  for  the  South  did  not  man- 
ufacture ;  it  had  the  cheap  and  vulgar  husbandry  of  slavery. 
They  could  make  more  money  with  cotton  than  with  corn, 
or  beef,  or  pork,  or  leather,  or  hats,  or  wooden-ware;  and 
Northern  ships  went  South  to  take  their  forest  timbers,  and 
brought  them  to  Connecticut  to  be  made  into  wooden-ware 
and  ax-helves  and  rake-handles,  and  carried  them  right  back 
to  sell  to  the  men  whose  axes  had  cut  down  the  trees.  The 
South  manufactured  nothing  except  slaves.  It  was  a  great 
manufacture,  that;  and  the  whole  market  of  the  North  was 
bribed.  The  harness-makers,  the  wagon-makers,  the  clock- 
makers,  makers  of  all  manner  of  implements,  of  all  manner 
of  goods,  every  manufactory,  every  loom  as  it  clanked  in  the 
North  said,  "  Maintain,"  not  slavery,  but  the  "  compromises 
of  the  Constitution."  The  Constitution — that  was  the  veil 
under  which  all  these  cries  were  continually  uttered. 

The  distinction  between  the  Anti-slavery  men  and  Abo- 
litionists was  simply  this:  The  Abolitionists  disclaimed  the 
obligation  to  maintain  this  government  and  the  compromises 
of  the  Constitution,  and  the  Anti-slavery  men  recognized  the 
binding  obligation  and  sought  the  emancipation  of  slaves  by  the 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  67 

more  circuitous  and  gradual  influence ;  but  Abolitionism  cov- 
ered both  terms.  It  was  regarded,  however,  throughout  the 
North  as  a  greater  sin  than  slavery  itself,  and  none  of  you 
that  are  under  thirty  years  of  age  can  form  any  adequate  con- 
ception of  the  public  sentiment  and  feeling  during  the  days 
of  my  young  manhood.  A  man  that  was  known  to  be  an 
Abolitionist  had  better  be  known  to  have  the  plague.  Every 
door  was  shut  to  him.  If  he  was  born  under  circumstances 
that  admitted  him  to  the  best  society,  he  was  the  black  sheep 
of  the  family.  If  he  aspired  by  fidelity,  industry,  and  genius, 
to  good  society,  he  was  debarred.  "An  Abolitionist"  was 
enough  to  put  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  any  young  man  that 
arose  in  my  early  day,  and  until  I  was  forty  years  of  age.  It 
was  punishable  to  preach  on  the  subject  of  liberty.  It  was 
enough  to  expel  a  man  from  Church  communion,  if  he  in- 
sisted on  praying  in  the  prayer-meeting"  for  the  liberation  of 
the  slaves.  The  Church  was  dumb  in  the  North,  not  in  the 
West.  The  great  publishing  societies  that  were  sustained  by 
the  contributions  of  the  Churches  were  absolutely  dumb. 

"WHO  IS  THIS  FELLOW?" 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  this  Egyptian  era  in  America 
that  the  young  aristocrat  of  Boston  appeared.  His  blood 
came  through  the  best  colonial  families.  He  was  an  aristo- 
crat by  descent  and  by  nature ;  a  noble  one,  but  a  thorough 
aristocrat.  All  his  life  and  power  assumed  that  guise.  He 
was  noble ;  he  was  full  of  kindness  to  inferiors ;  he  was  will- 
ing to  be,  and  do,  and  suffer  for  them ;  but  he  was  never  of 
them,  nor  equaled  himself  to  them.  He  was  always  above 
them,  and  his  gifts  of  love  were  always  the  gifts  of  a  prince 
to  his  subjects.  All  his  life  long  he  resented  every  attack  on 
his  person  and  on  his  honor,  as  a  noble  aristocrat  would. 
When  they  poured  the  filth  of  their  imaginations  upon  him, 


68  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

he  cared  no  more  for  it  than  the  eagle  cares  what  the  fly  is 
thinking  about  him  away  down  under  the  cloud.  All  the 
miserable  traffickers,  and  all  the  scribblers,  and  all  the  aris- 
tocratic boobies  of  Boston  were  no  more  to  him  than  mos- 
quitoes are  to  the  behemoth  or  to  the  lion.  He  was  aristocratic' 
in  his  pride,  and  lived  higher  than  most  men  lived.  He  was 
called  of  God  as  much  as  ever  Moses  and  the  prophets  were ; 
not  exactly  for  the  same  great  end,  but  in  consonance  with 
those  great  ends.  You  remember,  my  brother,  when  Love- 
joy  was  infamously  slaughtered  by  a  mob  in  Alton? — blood 
that  has  been  the  seed  of  liberty  all  over  this  land!  I  re- 
member it.  At  this  time  it  was  that  Channing  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  declared  that  the  moral  sentiment  of  Boston  ought 
to  be  uttered  in  rebuke  of  that  infamy  and  cruelty,  and  ask- 
ing for  Faneuil  Hall  in  which  to  call  a  public  meeting.  This 
was  indignantly  refused  by  the  Common  Council  of  Boston. 
Being  a  man  of  wide  influence,  he  gathered  around  about 
himself  enough  venerable  and  influential  old  citizens  of  Bos- 
ton to  make  a  denial  of  their  united  request  a  perilous  thing; 
and  Faneuil  Hall  was  granted  to  call  a  public  meeting  to 
express  itself  on  this  subject  of  the  murder  of  Lovejoy.  The 
meeting  was  made  up  largely  of  rowdies.  They  meant  to 
overawe  and  put  down  all  other  expressions  of  opinion  except 
those  that  then  rioted  with  the  riotous.  United  States  Dis- 
trict-attorney Austin  (when  Wendell  Phillips's  name  is 
written  in  letters  of  light  on  one  side  of  the  monument,  down 
low  on  the  other  side,  and  spattered  with  dirt,  let  the  name 
of  Austin  also  be  written)  made  a  truculent  speech,  and  jus- 
tified the  mob,  and  ran  the  whole  career  of  the  sewer  of 
those  days  and  justified  non-interference  with  slavery.  Wen- 
dell Phillips,  just  come  to  town  as  a  young  lawyer,  without 
at  present  any  practice,  practically  unknown,  except  to  his 
own  family,  fired  with  the  infamy,  and,  feeling  called  of  God 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  69 

in  his  soul,  went  upon  the  platform.  His  first  utterances 
brought  down  the  hisses  of  the  mob.  He  was  not  a  man 
very  easily  subdued  by  any  mob.  They  listened  as  he  kin- 
dled and  poured  on  that  man  Austin  the  fire  and  lava  of  a 
volcano,  and  he  finally  turned  the  course  of  the  feeling  of 
the  meeting.  Practically  unknown  when  the  sun  went  down 
one  day,  when  it  rose  next  morning  all  Boston  was  saying, 
"Who  is  this  fellow?  Who  is  this  Phillips?"  A  question 
that  has  never  been  asked  since. 

A  FLAMING  ADVOCATE  OF  LIBERTY. 

Thenceforth  he  has  been  a  flaming  advocate  of  liberty, 
with  singular  advantages  over  all  other  pleaders.  Mr.  Gar- 
rison was  not  noted  as  a  speaker,  yet  his  tongue  was  his  pen. 
Mr.  Phillips,  not  much  given  to  the  pen,  his  pen  was  his 
tongue;  and  no  other  like  speaker  has  ever  graced  our  his- 
tory. I  do  not  undertake  to  say  that  he  surpassed  all  others. 
He  had  an  intense  individuality,  and  that  intense  individ- 
uality ranked  him  among  the  noblest  orators  that  have  ever 
been  born  to  this  continent,  or  I  may  say  to  our  mother-land. 
He  adopted  in  full  the  tenets  of  Garrison,  which  were  exces- 
sively disagreeable  to  the  whole  public  mind.  The  ground 
which  he  took  was  that  which  Garrison  took.  Seeing  that 
the  conscience  of  the  North  was  smothered  and  mute  by 
reason  of  the  supposed  obligations  to  the  compromises  of  the 
Constitution,  Garrison  declared  that  the  compromises  of  the 
Constitution  were  covenants  with  hell,  and  that  no  man  was 
bound  to  observe  them.  This  extreme  ground  Mr.  Phillips 
also  took, — immediate,  unconditional,  universal  emancipation, 
at  any  cost  whatsoever.  That  is  Garrisonism ;  that  is  Wen- 
dell Phillipsism ;  and  it  would  seem  as  though  the  Lord 
rather  leaned  that  way,  too. 

I  shall  not  discuss  the  merits  of  Mr.  Garrison  or  Mr. 


70  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Phillips  in  every  direction.  I  shall  say  that  while  the  duty 
of  immediate  emancipation  without  conditions  was  unques- 
tionably the  right  ground,  yet  in  the  providence  of  God  even 
that  could  not  be  brought  to  pass  except  through  the  media- 
tion of  very  many  events.  It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that  Mr. 
Phillips  and  Mr.  Garrison  both  renounced  the  Union  and 
denounced  the  Union  in  the  hope  of  destroying  slavery; 
whereas  the  providence  of  God  brought  about  the  love  of 
the  Union  when  it  was  assailed  by  the  South,  and  made  the 
love  of  the  Union  the  enthusiasm  that  carried  the  great  war 
of  emancipation  through.  It  was  the  very  antithesis  of  the 
ground  which  they  took.  Like  John  Brown,  Mr.  Garrison; 
like  John  Brown,  Mr.  Phillips;  of  a  heroic  spirit,  seeking 
the  great  and  noble,  but  by  measures  not  well  adapted  to 
secure  the  end. 

Little  by  little  the  controversy  spread.  I  shall  not  trace 
it.  I  am  giving  you  simply  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
sprang  into  being  and  into  power.  His  career  was  a  career 
of  thirty  or  forty  years  of  undiminished  eagerness.  He  never 
quailed  nor  flinched,  nor  did  he  ever  at  any  time  go  back  one 
step  or  turn  in  the  slightest  degree  to  the  right  or  left.  He 
gloried  in  his  cause,  and  in  that  particular  aspect  of  it  which 
had  selected  him ;  for  he  was  one  that  was  called  rather  than 
one  that  chose.  He  stood  on  this  platform.  It  is  a  part  of 
the  sweet  and  pleasant  memories  of  my  comparative  youth 
here,  that  when  the  mob  refused  to  let  him  speak  in  the 
Broadway  Tabernacle  before  it  moved  up-town — the  old 
Tabernacle — William  A.  Hall,  now  dead,  a  fervent  friend 
and  Abolitionist,  had' secured  the  Graham  Institute  wherein 
to  hold  a  meeting  where  Mr.  Phillips  should  be  heard.  I 
had  agreed  to  pray  at  the  opening  of  the  meeting.  On  the 
morning  of  the  day  on  which  it  was  to  have  taken  place,  I 
was  visited  by  the  committee  of  that  Institute — excellent 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  71 

gentlemen,  whose  feelings  will  not  be  hurt  now,  because  they 
are  all  now  ashamed  of  it;  they  are  in  heaven.  They  visited 
me  to  say  that  in  consequence  of  the  great  peril  that  attended 
a  meeting  at  the  Institute,  they  had  withdrawn  the  liberty  to 
use  it,  and  paid  back  the  money,  and  that  they  called  simply 
to  say  that  it  was  out  of  no  disrespect  to  me,  but  from  fidelity 
to  their  supposed  trust.  Well,  it  was  a  bitter  thing. 

LIBERTY  OF  SPEECH  AND  THOUGHT. 

If  there  is  any  thing  on  earth  that  I  am  sensitive  to,  it  is 
the  withdrawing  of  the  liberty  of  speech  and  thought.  Henry 
C.  Bowen,  who  certainly  has  done  some  good  things  in  his 
life-time,  said  to  me :  "  You  can  have  Plymouth  Church  if 
you  want  it."  "How?"  "It  is  the  rule  of  the  church  trus- 
tees that  the  church  may  be  let  by  a  majority  vote  when  we 
are  convened ;  but  if  we  are  not  convened,  then  every  trustee 
must  give  his  assent  in  writing.  If  you  choose  to  make  it  a 
personal  matter,  and  go  to  every  trustee,  you  can  have  it." 
He  meanwhile  undertook,  with  Mr.  Hall,  to  put  new  placards 
over  the  old  ones,  notifying  men  quietly  that  the  meeting  was 
to  be  held  here,  and  distributed  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  hand-bills  at  the  ferries.  No  task  was  ever  more  welcome. 
I  went  to  the  trustees  man  by  man.  The  majority  of  the 
trustees  very  cheerfully  accorded  the  permission.  One  or 
two  of  them  were  disposed  to  decline  and  withhold  it.  I 
made  it  a  matter  of  personal  friendship.  "  You  and  I  will 
break,  if  you  do  n't  give  me  this  permission."  And  they 
signed.  So  the  meeting  glided  from  the  Graham  Institute  to 
this  house.  A  great  audience  assembled.  We  had  detectives 
in  disguise,  and  every  arrangement  made  to  handle  the  sub- 
ject in  a  practical  form  if  the  crowd  should  undertake  to 
molest  us.  The  Rev.  Dr.  R.  S.  Storrs  consented  to  come 
and  pray,  for  Mr.  Wendell  Phillips  was  by  marriage  a  near 


72  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

and  intimate  friend  and  relation  of  his.     The  reporters  were 
here;  when  were  they  ever  not? 

Mr.  Phillips  began  his  lecture,  and,  you  may  depend  upon 
it,  by  this  time  the  lion  was  in  him,  and  he  went  careering  on. 
His  views  were  extreme ;  he  made  them  extravagant.  I  re- 
member at  one  point — for  he  was  a  man  without  bluster, 
serene,  self-poised,  never  disturbed  in  the  least — he  made  an 
affirmation  that  was  very  bitter,  and  the  cry  arose  over  the 
whole  congregation.  He  stood  still,  with  a  cold,  bitter  smile 
in  his  eye,  and  waited  till  they  subsided,  when  he  repeated  it 
with  more  emphasis.  Again  the  roar  went  through.  He 
waited  and  repeated  it,  if  possible,  more  intensely,  and  he 
beat  them  down  with  that  one  sentence  until  they  were  still, 
and  let  him  go  on. 

POWER  TO  DISCERN  THE  RIGHT. 

The  power  to  discern  right  amid  all  the  wrappings  of  in- 
terest and  all  the  seductions  of  ambition  was  singularly  his. 
To  choose  the  lowly  for  their  sake,  to  abandon  all  favor,  all 
power,  all  comfort,  all  ambition,  all  greatness — that  was  his 
genius  and  glory.  He  confronted  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
and  of  the  age.  I  had  almost  said  he  set  himself  against 
nature,  as  if  he  had  been  a  decree  of  God  over-riding  all 
these  other  insuperable  obstacles.  That  was  his  function. 
Mr.  Phillips  was  not  called  to  be  a  universal  orator  any 
more  than  he  was  a  universal  thinker.  In  literature  and  in 
history  widely  read,  in  person  magnificent,  in  manners  most 
accomplished,  gentle  as  a  babe,  sweet  as  a  new-blown  rose, 
in  voice  clear  and  silvery,  yet  he  was  not  a  man  of  tempests, 
he  was  not  an  orchestra  of  a  hundred  instruments,  he  was 
not  an  organ,  mighty  and  complex.  The  nation  slept,  and 
God  wanted  a  trumpet,  sharp,  wide-sounding,  narrow  and 
intense;  and  that  was  Mr.  Phillips.  The  long-roll  is  not 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  73 

particularly  agreeable  in  music,  or  in  times  of  war,  but  it  is 
better  than  flutes  or  harps  when  men  are  in  a  great  battle, 
or  are  on  the  point  of  it.  His  eloquence  was  penetrating 
and  alarming.  He  did  not  flow  as  a  mighty  Gulf  Stream ; 
he  did  not  dash  upon  this  continent  as  the  ocean  does;  he 
was  not  a  mighty  rushing  river.  His  eloquence  was  a  flight 
of  arrows,  sentence  after  sentence  polished,  and  most  of  them 
burning.  He  slung  them  one  after  the  other,  and  where 
they  struck  they  slew.  Always  elegant,  always  awful.  I 
think  his  scorn  is  and  was  as  fine  as  I  ever  knew  it  in  any 
human  being.  He  had  that  sublime  sanctuary  in  his  pride 
that  made  him  almost  insensitive  to  what  would  by  other 
men  be  considered  obloquy.  It  was  as  if  he  said  every  day 
in  himself:  "  I  am  not  what  they  are  firing  at.  I  am  not 
there,  and  I  am  not  that.  It  is  not  against  me.  I  am  in- 
finitely superior  to  what  they  think  me  to  be.  They  do  not 
know  me."  It  was  quiet  and  unpretentious,  but  it  was 
there.  Conscience  and  pride  were  the  two  concurrent  ele- 
ments of  his  nature. 

THE  MOB-BEATEN  HERO  TRIUMPHANT. 

He  lived  to  see  the  slave  emancipated,  but  not  by  moral 
means.  He  lived  to  see  the  sword  cut  the  fetter.  After 
this  had  taken  place,  he  was  too  young  to  retire,  though  too 
old  to  gather  laurels  of  literature  or  to  seek  professional 
honors.  The  impulse  of  humanity  was  not  at  all  abated. 
His  soul  still  flowed  on  for  the  great  under-masses  of  man- 
kind, though,  like  the  Nile,  it  split  up  into  scores  of  mouths, 
and  not  all  of  them  were  navigable.  After  a  long  and  stormy 
life  his  sun  wrent  down  in  glory.  All  the  English-speaking 
people  on  the  globe  have  written  among  the  names  that  shall 
never  die  the  name  of  that  scoffed,  detested,  mob-beaten,  per- 
secuted wretch — Wendell  Phillips.  Boston,  that  perscuted 
and  would  have  slain  him,  is  now  exceedingly  busy  in  build- 


74  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ing  his  tomb  and  rearing  his  statue.  The  men  that  would 
not  defile  their  lips  with  his  name  are  thanking  God  to-day 
that  he  lived. 

He  has  taught  some  lessons — lessons  that  the  young  will 
do  well  to  take  heed  to — that  the  most  splendid  gifts  and 
opportunities  and  ambitions  may  be  best  used  for  the  dumb 
and  lowly.  His  whole  life  is  a  rebuke  to  the  idea  that  we 
are  to  climb  to  greatness  by  climbing  up  on  the  backs  of  great 
men,  that  we  are  to  gain  strength  by  running  with  the  cur- 
rents of  life,  that  we  can  from  without  add  any  thing  to  the 
great  within  that  constitutes  man.  He  poured  out  the  pre- 
cious ointment  of  his  soul  upon  the  feet  of  that  diffusive  Jesus 
who  suffers  here  in  his  poor  and  despised  ones.  He  has  taught 
young  ambitions,  too,  that  the  way  to  glory  is  the  way  often- 
times of  adhesion  simply  to  principle,  and  that  popularity 
and  unpopularity  are  not  things  to  be  known  or  considered. 
Do  right  and  rejoice.  If  to  do  right  will  bring  you  under 
trouble,  rejoice  in  it  that  you  are  counted  worthy  to  suffer 
with  God  and  the  providences  of  God  in  this  world. 

He  belongs  to  the  race  of  giants,  not  simply  because  he 
was,  in  and  of  himself  a  great  soul,  but  because  he  had  bathed 
in  the  providence  of  God  and  came  forth  scarcely  less  than  a 
god;  because  he  gave  himself  to  the  work  of  God  upon  earth, 
and  inherited  thereby,  or  had  reflected  upon  him,  some  of  the 
majesty  of  his  Master.  When  pigmies  are  all  dead,  the  no- 
ble countenance  of  Wendell  Phillips  will  still  look  forth, 
radiant  as  a  rising  sun,  a  sun  that  will  never  set.  He  has  be- 
come to  us  a  lesson,  his  death  an  example,  his  whole  history 
an  encouragement  to  manhood — and  to  heroic  manhood. 


VIII 
W0RB8W0RTH. 


(BORN  1770—  DIED  1859.) 

THE  KINDLY  WIFE  OF  THE  GREAT  POET. 


"  A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

'HE  last  thing  that  would  have  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Wordsworth  would  have  been  that  her  departure, 
or  any  thing  about  her,  would  be  publicly  noticed 
amidst  the  events  of  a  stirring  time.  Those  who 
knew  her  well  regarded  her  with  as  true  a  homage  as  they 
ever  rendered  to  any  member  of  the  household,  or  to  any 
personage  of  the  remarkable  group  which  will  be  forever  tra- 
ditionally associated  with  the  Lake  District;  but  this  rever- 
ence, genuine  and  hearty  as  it  was,  would  not,  in  all  eyes,  be 
a  sufficient  reason  for  recording  more  than  the  fact  of  her 
death.  It  is  her  survivorship  of  such  a  group  which  consti- 
tutes an  undisputed  public  interest  in  her  decease.  With  her 
closes  a  remarkable  scene  in  the  history  of  the  literature  of 
our  century.  The  well-known  cottage,  mount,  and  garden 
at  Rydal  will  be  regarded  with  other  eyes  when  shut  up  or 
transferred  to  new  occupants.  With  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  an 
old  world  has  passed  away  before  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  district,  and  a  new  one  succeeds,  which  may  have  its 
own  delights,  solemnities,  honors,  and  graces,  but  which  can 
never  replace  the  familiar  one  that  is  gone.  There  was  some- 
thing mournful,  in  the  lingering  of  this  aged  lady — blind, 
deaf,  and  bereaved  in  her  latter  years;  but  she  was  not  mourn- 
ful, any  more  than  she  was  insensible.  Age  did  not  blunt 

75 


76  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

her  feelings,  nor  deaden  her  interest  in  the  events  of  the  day. 
It  seems  not  so  very  long  ago  that  she  said  that  the  worst  of 
living  in  such  a  place  (as  the  Lake  District),  was  its  making 
one  unwilling  to  go.  It  is  too  beautiful  to  let  one  be  ready 
to  leave  it.  Within  a  few  years  the  beloved  daughter  was 
gone,  and  then  the  aged  husband,  and  then  the  son-in-law, 
and  then  the  devoted  friend,  Mr.  Wordsworth's  publisher, 
Mr.  Moxon,  who  paid  his  duty  occasionally  by  the  side  of 
her  chair;  then  she  became  blind  and  deaf.  Still  her  cheer- 
fulness was  indomitable.  No  doubt,  she  would  in  reality 
have  been  "willing  to  go,"  whenever  called  upon,  throughout 
her  long  life ;  but  she  liked  life  to  the  end.  By  her  disin- 
terestedness of  nature,  by  her  fortitude  of  spirit,  and  her  con- 
stitutional elasticity  and  activity,  she  was  qualified  for  the 
honor  of  surviving  her  household — nursing  and  burying 
them,  and  bearing  the  bereavement  which  they  were  vica- 
riously spared.  She  did  it  wisely,  tenderly,  bravely,  and  cheer- 
fully; and  then  she  will  be  remembered  accordingly  by  all 
who  witnessed  the  spectacle. 

It  was  by  the  accident,  so  to  speak,  of  her  early  friend- 
ship writh  Wordsworth's  sister,  that  her  life  became  involved 
with  the  poetic  element  which  her  mind  would  hardly  have 
sought  for  itself  in  another  position.  She  was  the  incarna- 
tion of  good  sense,  as  applied  to  the  concerns  of  the  every- 
day world.  In  as  far  as  her  marriage  and  course  of  life 
tended  to  infuse  a  newr  elevation  into  her  views  of  things,  it 
was  a  blessing ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  in  as  far  as  it  in- 
fected her  with  the  spirit  of  exclusiveness,  which  was  the 
grand  defect  of  the  group  in  its  own  pla"ce,  it  was  hurtful; 
but  that  very  exclusiveness  was  less  an  evil  than  an  amuse- 
ment, after  all.  It  was  rather  a  serious  matter  to  hear  the 
poet's  denunciation  of  the  railway,  and  to  read  his  well-known 
sonnets  on  the  desecration  of  the  Lake  region  by  the  unhal- 


MARY  WORDSWORTH.  77 

lowed  presence  of  commonplace  strangers;  and  it  was  truly 
painful  to  observe  how  the  scornful  and  grudging  mood 
spread  among  the  young,  who  thought  they  were  agreeing 
with  Wordsworth  in  claiming  the  vales  and  lakes  as  a  nat- 
ural property  for  their  enlightened  selves.  But  it  was  so 
unlike  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  with  her  kindly,  cheery,  generous 
turn,  to  say  that  a  green  field,  with  buttercups,  would  an- 
swer all  the  purposes  of  Lancashire  operatives,  and  that  they 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves  when  they  came 
among  the  mountains,  that  the  innocent  insolence  could  do 
no  harm.  It  became  a  fixed  sentiment  when  she  alone  sur- 
vived to  uphold  it,  and  one  demonstration  of  it  amused  the 
whole  neighborhood  in  a  good-natured  way.  "People  from 
Birth waite"  were  the  bugbear — Birth waite  being  the  end  of 
the  railway.  In  the  Summer  of  1857,  Mrs.  Wordsworth's 
companion  told  her  (she  being  then  blind)  that  there  were 
some  strangers  in  the  garden — two  or  three  boys  on  the 
mount,  looking  at  the  view.  "Boys  from  Birth  waite,"  said 
the  old  lady,  in  the  well-known  tone,  which  conveyed  that 
nothing  good  could  come  from  Birthwaite.  When  the  stran- 
gers were  gone,  it  appeared  that  they  were  the  Prince  of 
Wales  and  his  companions.  Making  allowance  for  prejudices, 
neither  few  nor  small,  but  easily  dissolved  when  reason  and 
kindliness  had  opportunity  to  work,  she  was  a  truly  wise 
woman,  equal  to  all  occasions  of  action,  and  supplying  other 
persons'  needs  and  deficiencies. 

In  the  "  Memoirs  of  Wordsworth  "  it  is  stated  that  she 
was  the  original  of 

"  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight ;" 

and  some  things  in  the  next  few  pages  look  like  it;  but  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  poet's  life  it  was  certainly  believed 
by  some,  who  ought  to  know,  that  that  wonderful  descrip- 
tion related  to  another  who  flitted  before  his  imagination  in 


78  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

earlier  days  than  those  in  which  he  discovered  the  aptitude 
of  Mary  Hutchinson  to  his  own  needs.  The  last  stanza  is 
very  like  her;  and  her  husband's  sonnet  to  the  painter  of  her 
portrait,  in  old  age,  discloses  to  us  how  the  first  stanza  might 
be  also,  in  days  beyond  the  ken  of  the  existing  generation. 

Of  her  early  sorrows,  in  the  loss  of  two  children  and  a 
beloved  sister,  who  was  domesticated  with  the  family,  there 
are  probably  no  living  witnesses.  It  will  never  be  forgotten, 
by  those  who  saw  it,  how  the  late  dreary  train  of  afflictions 
was  met.  For  many  years  Wordsworth's  sister  Dorothy  was 
a  melancholy  charge.  Mrs.  Wordsworth  was  wont  to  warn 
any  rash  enthusiasts  for  mountain-walking  by  the  spectacle 
before  them.  The  adoring  sister  would  never  fail  her 
brother;  and  she  destroyed  her  health,  and  then  her  reason, 
by  exhausting  walks  and  wrong  remedies  for  the  conse- 
quences. Forty  miles  in  a  day  was  not  a  singular  feat  of 
Dorothy's.  During  the  long  years  of  this  devoted  creature's 
helplessness  she  was  tended  with  admirable  cheerfulness  and 
good  sense.  Thousands  of  lake  tourists  must  remember  the 
locked  garden-gate  when  Miss  Wordsworth  was  taking  the 
air,  and  the  garden-chair  going  round  and  round  the  terrace, 
with  the  emaciated  little  woman  in  it,  who  occasionally  called 
out  to  strangers  and  amused  them  with  her  clever  sayings. 
She  outlived  the  beloved  Dora,  Wordsworth's  only  surviving 
daughter. 

After  the  lingering  illness  of  that  daughter  (Mrs.  Quill- 
inan),  the  mother  encountered  the  dreariest  portion,  prob- 
ably, of  her  life.  Her  aged  husband  used  to  spend  the 
long  Winter  evenings  in  grief  and  tears — week  after  week, 
month  after  month.  Neither  of  them  had  eyes  for  reading. 
He  could  not  be  comforted.  She,  who  carried  as  tender  a 
maternal  heart  as  ever  beat,  had  to  bear  her  own  grief  and 
his  too.  She  grew  whiter  and  smaller,  so  as  to  be  greatly 


MARY  WORDSWORTH.  79 

changed  in  a  few  months;  but  this  was  the  only  expression 
of  what  she  endured,  and  he  did  not  discover  it.  When  he, 
too,  left  her,  it  was  seen  how  disinterested  had  been  her 
trouble.  AVhen  his  trouble  had  ceased,  she,  too,  was  relieved. 
She  followed  his  coffin  to  the  sacred  corner  of  Grasmere 
churchyard,  where  lay  now  all  those  who  had  once  made  her 
home.  She  joined  the  household  guests  on  their  return  from 
the  funeral,  and  made  tea  as  usual.  And  this  was  the  dis- 
interested spirit  which  carried  her  through  the  last  few 
years,  till  she  had  just  reached  the  ninetieth.  Even  then 
she  had  strength  to  combat  disease  for  many  days.  Several 
times  she  rallied  and  relapsed;  and  she  was  full  of  alacrity 
of  mind  and  body  as  long  as  exertion  of  any  kind  was  pos- 
sible. There  were  many  eager  to  render  all  duty  and  love — 
her  two  sons,  nieces,  and  friends,  and  a  whole  sympathizing 
neighborhood. 

The  question  commonly  asked  by  visitors  to  that  corner 
of  Grasmere  churchyard  was:  Where  would  she  be  laid 
when  the  time  came?  The  space  was  so  completely  filled. 
The  cluster  of  stones  told  of  the  little  children  who  died  a 
long  lifetime  ago;  of  the  sisters — Sarah  Hutchinson  and 
Dorothy  Wordsworth ;  and  of  Mr.  Quillinan,  and  his  two 
wives,  Dora  lying  between  her  husband  and  father,  and 
seeming  to  occupy  her  mother's  rightful  place.  And  Hart- 
ley Coleridge  lies  next  the  family  group;  and  others  press 
closely  round.  There  is  room,  however.  The  large  gray 
stone,  which  bears  the  name  of  William  Wordsworth,  has 
ample  space  left  for  another  inscription;  and  the  grave  be- 
neath has  ample  space  also  for  his  faithful  life-companion. 

Not  one  is  left  now  of  the  eminent  persons  who  rendered 
that  cluster  of  valleys  so  eminent  as  it  has  been.  Dr. 
Arnold  went  first,  in  the  vigor  of  his  years.  Southey  died 
at  Keswick,  and  Hartley  Coleridge  on  the  margin  of  Rydal 


80  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Lake ;  and  the  Quillinans  under  the  shadow  of  Loughrigg ; 
and  Professor  Wilson  disappeared  from  Elleray;  and  the 
aged  Mrs.  Fletcher  from  Lancrigg;  and  the  three  venerable 
Wordsworths  from  Rydal  Mount. 

The  survivor  of  all  the  rest  had  a  heart  and  a  memory 
for  the  solemn  last  of  every  thing.  She  was  the  one  to  in- 
quire of  about  the  last  eagle  in  the  district,  the  last  pair  of 
ravens  in  any  crest  of  rocks,  the  last  old  dalesman  in  any 
improved  spot,  the  last  round  of  the  last  peddler  among  hills 
where  the  broad  white  road  has  succeeded  the  green  bridal- 
path.  She  knew  the  district  during  the  period  between  its 
first  recognition,  through  Gray's  "Letters,"  to  its  complete 
publicity  in  the  age  of  railways.  She  saw,  perhaps,  the  best 
of  it.  But  she  contributed  to  modernize  and  improve  it, 
though  the  idea  of  doing  so  probably  never  occurred  to  her. 
There  were  great  people  before  to  give  away  Christmas 
bounties,  and  spoil  their  neighbors,  as  the  established  alms- 
giving of  the  rich  does  spoil  the  laboring  class,  which  ought 
to  be  above  that  kind  of  aid.  Mrs.  Wordsworth  did  infin- 
itely more  good  in  her  own  way,  and  without  being  aware 
of  it.  An  example  of  comfortable  thrift  was  a  greater  boon 
to  the  people  round  than  money,  clothes,  meat,  or  fuel. 
The  oldest  residents  have  long  borne  witness  that  the  homes 
of  the  neighbors  have  assumed  a  new  character  of  order  and 
comfort,  and  wholesome  economy,  since  the  poet's  family 
lived  at  Rydal  Mount.  It  used  to  be  a  pleasant  sight  when 
Wordsworth  was  seen  in  the  middle  of  a  hedge,  cutting 
switches  for  half  a  dozen  children,  who  were  pulling  at  his 
cloak,  or  gathering  about  his  heels;  and  -it  will  long  be 
pleasant  to  family  friends  to  hear  how  the  young  wives  of 
half  a  century  learned  to  make  home  comfortable  by  the 
example  of  the  good  housewife  at  the  Mount,  who  never 
was  above  letting  her  thrift  be  known. 


MARY  WORDSWORTH.  81 

Finally,  she  who  had  noted  so  many  last  survivors  was 
herself  the  last  of  a  company  more  venerable  than  eagles, 
or  ravens,  or  old-world  yeomen,  or  antique  customs.  She 
would  not,  in  any  case,  be  the  first  forgotten.  As  it  is,  her 
honored  name  will  live  for  generations  in  the  traditions  of 
the  valleys  round.  If  she  was  studied  as  the  poet's  wife, 
she  came  out  so  well  from  that  investigation  that  she  was 
contemplated  for  herself;  and  the  image  so  received  is  her 
true  monument.  It  will  be  better  preserved  in  her  old- 
fashioned  neighborhood  than  many  monuments  which  make 
a  greater  show. 

"  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 
A  lovely  apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes,  as  stars  of  twilight  fair ; 
Like  twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair ; 
But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  dawn ; 
A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 

To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 
*  *-  -%  » 

And  now  I  see,  with  eye  serene, 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveler  between  life  and  death ; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU  IN  1859. 
6 


IX. 


(BORN  1808— DIED  1836.) 
HER  CAREER  AS  A  SINGER— KINDNESS  OF  HEART. 


;AEIE  FELICITA  GARCIA,  who  died  at  the 

early  age  of  twenty-eight,  was  one  of  the  greatest 
singers  the  world  has  ever  known.  Born  at  Paris 
in  1808,  according  to  some  biographers  at  Turin, 
she  was  the  daughter  of  Manuel  Garcia,  the  famous  Spanish 
tenor  singer,  by  whom  she  was  so  thoroughly  trained  that 
she  made  her  first  public  appearance  in  London  March  25, 
1826,  and  achieved  a  remarkable  and  instant  success. 

She  sang  with  wonderful  acceptance  in  diiferent  parts  of 
England,  and  in  the  Autumn  of  the  same  year  came  to 
America  as  prima  donna  of  an  opera  company  under  the 
management  of  her  father.  In  New  York  her  success  was 
without  precedent.  In  the  memory  of  many  aged  people 
there  she  still  holds  her  place  as  the  Queen  of  Song. 

In  the  following  year  she  married  Eugene  Malibran,  an 
elderly  French  merchant,  under  whose  name  she  was  ever 
afterwards  known. 

Returning  to  Europe,  she  made  her  first  appearance  in 
Paris  January  14,  1828,  where  she  added  other  jewels  to 
the  singer's  crown. 

We  can  not  follow  her  throughout  her  brilliant  career, 
but  must  hasten  on  to  the  closing  scenes  of  her  life. 

In  May,  1836,  she  fell  from  her  horse  and  was  seriously 
injured.  Not  considering  the  matter  in  its  true  aspect,  she 
kept  her  engagements  during  the  Summer,  and  in  September 
82 


MADAME  MALIBRAN.  83 

appeared  in  England,  at  the  Manchester  Musical  Festival, 
though  warned  by  her  physician  to  desist.  As  the  result  of 
the  imprudence  a  nervous  fever  set  in,  and  she  died  Sep- 
tember 23d,  1836. 

In  one  of  the  many  notices  of  this  great  singer,  these 
words  are  found: 

"  Madame  Malibran's  voice  was  a  mezzo-soprano  of  great 
volume  and  purity,  and  had  been  brought  to  absolute  per- 
fection by  the  severe  training  of  her  father.  Her  private 
character  was  irreproachable.  Few  women  have  been  more 
beloved  for  their  amiability,  generosity,  and  professional 
enthusiasm.  Her  intellect  was  of  a  high  order,  and  the 
charms  of  her  conversation  fascinated  all  who  were  admitted 
into  the  circle  of  her  intimate  friends.  Her  benefactions 
amounted  to  such  considerable  sums  that  her  friends  were 
frequently  obliged  to  interfere  for  the  purpose  of  regulating 
her  finances." 

Many  stories  are  told,  which  show  her  kindness  of  heart. 
The  following  is  one  of  pathetic  interest : 

In  a  humble  room  in  one  of  the  poorest  streets  of  Lon- 
don, Pierre,  a  faithful  French  boy,  sat  humming  by  the  bed- 
side of  his  sick  mother.  There  was  no  bread  in  the  closet, 
and  for  the  whole  day  he  had  not  tasted  food.  Yet  he  sat 
humming  to  keep  up  his  spirits.  Still  at  times  he  thought 
of  his  loneliness  and  hunger,  and  he  could  scarcely  keep  the 
tears  from  his  eyes;  for  he  knew  that  nothing  would  be  so 
grateful  to  his  poor  invalid  mother  as  a  good,  sweet  orange, 
and  yet  he  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world. 

The  little  song  he  was  singing  was  his  own— one  he  had 
composed,  both  air  and  words — for  the  child  was  a  genius. 

He  went  to  the  window,  and,  looking  out,  saw  a  man  put- 
ting up  a  great  bill  with  yellow  letters,  announcing  that 
Madame  Malibran  would  sing  that  night  in  public. 


84  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  O,  if  I  could  only  go !"  thought  little  Pierre ;  and  then 
pausing  a  moment,  he  clasped  his  hands,  his  eyes  lighted 
with  a  new  hope. 

Running  to  the  little  stand,  he  smoothed  his  yellow  curls, 
and  taking  from  a  little  box  some  old,  stained  paper,  gave 
one  eager  glance  at  his  mother,  who  slept,  and  ran  speedily 
from  the  house. 

"  Who  did  you  say  was  waiting  for  me?"  said  the  madame 
to  her  servant;  "I  am  already  worn  out  with  company." 

"  It  's  only  a  very  pretty  little  boy,  with  yellow  curls, 
who  said  if  he  can  just  see  you  he  is  sure  you  will  not  be 
sorry,  and  he  will  not  keep  you  a  moment." 

"O,  well,  let  him  come  in!"  said  the  beautiful  singer, 
with  a  smile ;  "  I  can  never  refuse  children." 

Little  Pierre  came  in,  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  in  his 
hand  a  little  roll  of  paper.  With  manliness  unusual  for  a 
child,  he  walked  straight  to  the  lady,  and,  bowing,  said: 

"  I  came  to  see  you  because  my  mother  is  very  sick,  and 
we  are  too  poor  to  get  food  and  medicine.  I  thought,  per- 
haps, that  if  you  would  sing  my  little  song  at  some  of  your 
grand  concerts,  may  be  some  publisher  would  buy  it  for  a 
small  sum,  and  so  I  could  get  food  and  medicine  for  my 
mother." 

The  beautiful  woman  arose  from  her  seat.  Very  tall  and 
stately  she  was.  She  took  the  little  roll  from  his  hand  and 
lightly  hummed  the  air. 

"Did  you  compose  it?"  she  asked;  "you,  a  child!  And 
the  words?  Would  you  like  to  come  to  my  concert?"  she 
asked. 

"O  yes!"  and  the  boy's  eyes  grew  bright  with  happi- 
ness; "but  I  couldn't  leave  my  mother." 

"  I  will  send  somebody  to  take  care  of  your  mother  for 
the  evening,  and  here  is  a  crown  with  which  you  may  go  and 


MADAME  MAL1RRAN.  85 

get  food  and  medicine.  Here  is  also  one  of  my  tickets. 
Come  to-night;  that  will  admit  you  to  a  seat  near  me." 

Almost  beside  himself  with  joy,  Pierre  bought  some 
oranges,  and  many  a  little  luxury  besides,  and  carried  them 
home  to  the  poor  invalid,  telling  her,  not  without  tears,  of 
his  good  fortune. 

When  evening  came,  and  Pierre  was  admitted  to  the 
concert  hall,  he  felt  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  been  in  so 
great  a  place.  The  music,  the  myriad  lights,  the  beauty,  the 
flashing  of  diamonds  and  rustling  of  silks  bewildered  his 
eyes  and  brain. 

At  last  she  came,  and  the  child  sat  with  his  glance  riveted 
on  her  glorious  face.  Could  he  believe  that  the  grand  lady, 
all  blazing  with  jewels,  and  whom  every  body  seemed  to 
worship,  would  really  sing  his  little  song? 

Breathless  he  waited ;  the  band — the  whole  band — struck 
up  a  plaintive  little  melody.  He  knew  it,  and  clasped  his 
hands  for  joy.  And  O,  how  she  sang  it !  It  was  so  simple, 
so  mournful.  Many  a  bright  eye  dimmed  with  tears,  and 
naught  could  be  heard  but  the  touching  words  of  that  little 
song — O,  so  touching! 

Pierre  walked  home  as  if  he  were  moving  on  the  air. 

What  cared  he  for  money  now?  The  greatest  singer  in 
all  Europe  had  sung  his  little  song,  and  thousands  had  wept 
at  his  grief. 

The  next  day  he  was  frightened  at  a  visit  from  Madame 
Malibran.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  yellow  curls,  and, 
turning  to  the  sick  woman,  said,  "Your  little  boy,  madame, 
has  brought  you  a  fortune.  I  was  offered  this  morning,  by 
the  best  publisher  in  London,  $1,500  for  his  little  song; 
and,  after  he  has  realized  a  certain  amount  from  the  sale, 
little  Pierre  here  is  to  share  the  profits.  Madame,  thank 
God  that  your  sou  has  a  gift  from  heaven." 


86  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

The  noble-hearted  singer  and  the  poor  woman  wept  to- 
gether. As  to  Pierre,  always  mindful  of  Him  who  watches 
over  the  tried  and  tempted,  he  knelt  down  by  his  mother's 
bedside  and  uttered  a  simple  prayer,  asking  God's  blessing 
on  the  kind  lady  who  had  deigned  to  notice  their  affliction. 

The  memory  of  that  prayer  made  the  singer  more  ten- 
der-hearted, and  she,  who  was  the  idol  of  England's  nobility, 
went  about  doing  good.  And  in  her  early,  happy  death,  he 
who  stood  beside  her  bed  and  smoothed  her  pillow,  and 
lightened  her  last  moments  by  his  undying  affection,  was 
little  Pierre  of  former  days,  now  rich,  accomplished,  and  the 
most  talented  composer  of  the  day. 

O  singer  of  the  heart, 
The  heart  that  never  dies ! 
The  Lord's  interpreter  thou  art, 
His  angel  from  the  skies. 

Thy  work  on  earth  is  great 
As  his  who  saves  a  soul, 
Or  his  who  guides  the  ship  of  state, 
When  mountain-billows  roll. 

The  life  of  Heaven  comes  down 
In  gleams  of  grace  and  truth ; 
Sad  mortals  see  the  shining  crown 
Of  sweet,  perennial  youth. 

The  life  of  God,  in  song 
Becomes  the  life  of  man ; 
Ashamed  is  he  of  sin  and  wrong 
Who  hears  a  Malibran ! 


X. 


GATHERED  FROM  HIS  SPEECHES,  ADDRESSES,  LETTERS,  ETC. 


would  rather  be  beaten  in  right  than  succeed  in 
wrong. 

I  feel  a  profounder  reverence  for  a  boy  than 
for  a  man.  I  never  meet  a  ragged  boy  in  the 
street  without  feeling  that  I  may  owe  him  a  salute,  for 
I  know  not  what  possibilities  may  be  buttoned  under  his 
coat. 

Poverty  is  uncomfortable,  as  I  can  testify;  but,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  a  young 
man  is  to  be  tossed  overboard  and  compelled  to  sink  or 
swim  for  himself.  In  all  my  acquaintance,  I  never  knew 
a  man  to  be  drowned  who  was  worth  the  saving. 

If  the  power  to  do  hard  work  is  not  talent,  it  is  the  best 
possible  substitute  for  it. 

We  can  not  study  nature  profoundly  without  bringing 
ourselves  into  communion  with  the  spirit  of  art  which  per- 
vades and  fills  the  universe. 

If  there  be  one  thing  upon  this  earth  that  mankind  love 
and  admire  better  than  another,  it  is  a  brave  man;  it  is  a 
man  who  dares  to  look  the  devil  in  the  face  and  tell  him  he 
is  a  devil. 

It  is  one  of  the  precious  mysteries  of  sorrow  that  it  finds 
solace  in  unselfish  thought. 

Every  character  is  the  joint  product  of  nature  and  nur- 
ture. 

It  has  been  fortunate   that   most  of  our  greatest  men 

87 


88  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

have  left  no  descendants  to  shine  in  the  borrowed  luster  of 
a  great  name. 

An  uncertain  currency,  that  goes  up  and  down,  hits  the 
laborer,  and  hits  him  hard.  It  helps  him  last  and  hurts  him 
first. 

We  no  longer  attribute  the  untimely  death  of  infants  to 
the  sin  of  Adam,  but  to  bad  nursing  and  ignorance. 

The  granite  hills  are  not  so  changeless  and  abiding  as 
the  restless  sea. 

In  their  struggle  with  the  forces  of  nature,  the  ability  to 
labor  was  the  richest  patrimony  of  the  colonists. 

Coercion  is  the  basis  of  every  law  in  the  universe — human 
or  divine.  A  law  is  no  law  without  coercion  behind  it. 

For  the  noblest  man  who  lives  there  still  remains  a 
conflict. 

We  hold  reunions,  not  for  the  dead ;  for  there  is  nothing 
in  all  the  earth  that  you  and  I  can  do  for  the  dead.  They 
are  past  our  help  and  past  our  praise.  We  can  add  to  them 
no  glory,  we  can  give  them  no  immortality.  They  do  not 
need  us,  but  for  ever  and  for  evermore  we  need  them. 

Throughout  the  whole  web  of  national  existence  we  trace 
the  golden  thread  of  human  progress  toward  a  higher  and 
better  estate. 

Heroes  did  not  make  our  liberties,  but  they  reflected  and 
illustrated  them. 

After  all,  territory  is  but  the  body  of  a  nation.  The 
people  who  inhabit  its  hills  and  valleys  are  its  soul,  its  spirit, 
its  life.  In  them  dwells  its  hope  of  immortality.  Among 
them,  if  anywhere,  are  to  be  found  its  chief  elements  of 
destruction. 

It  matters  little  what  may  be  the  forms  of  national  insti- 
tution if  the  life,  freedom,  and  growth  of  society  are  secured. 

Finally,  our  great  hope  for  the  future— our  great  safe- 


GARFIELD.— MAXIMS.  89 

guard  against  danger — is  to  be  found  in  the  general  and 
thorough  education  of  our  people,  and  in  the  virtue  which 
accompanies  such  education. 

The  germ  of  our  political  institutions,  the  primary  cell 
from  which  they  were  evolved,  was  in  the  New  England 
town,  and  the  vital  force,  the  informing  soul,  of  the  town 
was  the  town  meeting,  which,  for  all  local  concerns,  was 
kings,  lords,  and  commons  in  all. 

It  is  as  much  the  duty  of  all  good  men  to  protect  and 
defend  the  reputation  of  worthy  public  servants  as  to  detect 
public  rascals. 

Be  fit  for  more  than  the  thing  you  are  now  doing. 

If  you  are  not  too  large  for  the  place,  you  are  too  small 
for  it. 

Young  men  talk  of  trusting  to  the  spur  of  the  occasion. 
That  trust  is  vain.  Occasions  can  not  make  spurs.  If  you 
expect  to  wear  spurs,  you  must  win  them.  If  you  wish  to 
use  them,  you  must  buckle  them  to  your  own  heels  before 
you  go  into  the  fight. 

Greek  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  instrument  of  thought 
ever  invented  by  man,  and  its  literature  has  never  been 
equaled  in  purity  of  style  and  boldness  of  expression. 

Great  ideas  travel  slowly,  and  for  a  time  noiselessly,  as 
the  gods  whose  feet  were  shod  with  wool. 

What  the  arts  are  to  the  world  of  matter,  literature  is  to 
the  world  of  mind. 

History  is  but  the  unrolled  scroll  of  prophecy. 

The  world's  history  is  a  divine  poem,  of  which  the  history 
of  every  nation  is  a  canto  and  every  man  a  word.  Its  strains 
have  been  pealing  along  down  the  centuries,  and  though 
there  have  been  mingled  the  discords  of  warring  cannon  and 
dying  men,  yet  to  the  Christian,  philosopher,  and  historian — 
the  humble  listener — there  has  been  a  divine  melody  running 


90  BRAVE   MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

through  the  song  which  speaks  of  hope  and  halcyon  days 
to  come. 

Light  itself  is  a  great  corrective.  A  thousand  wrongs 
and  abuses  that  are  grown  in  darkness  disappear  like  owls 
and  bats  before  the  light  of  day. 

Liberty  can  be  safe  only  when  suffrage  is  illuminated 
by  education. 

Parties  have  an  organic  life  and  spirit  of  their  own,  an 
individuality  and  character  which  outlive  the  men  who  com- 
pose them ;  and  the  spirit  and  traditions  of  a  party  should  be 
considered  in  determining  their  fitness  for  managing  the 
affairs  of  the  nation. 


Of  Garfield's  finished  days, 
So  fair,  and  all  too  few, 
Destruction  which  at  noonday  strays 
Could  not  the  work  undo. 

0  martyr,  prostrate,  calm! 

1  learn  anew  that  pain 
Achieves,  as  God's  subduing  psalm, 

What  else  were  all  in  vain. 

Like  Samson  in  his  death 
With  mightiest  labor  rife, 
The  moments  of  thy  halting  breath 
Were  grandest  of  thy  life. 

And  now  amid  the  gloom 
Which  pierces  mortal  years, 
There  shines  a  star  above  thy  tomb 
To  smile  away  our  tears. 


XI. 


A  REMINISCENCE  AT  FORTY—  PICTURES  OF  RURAL  LIFE, 


has  brought  me  a  kiss  to-day, 
As  forty  comes  marching  along  life's  way ; 

At  least,  only  such  as  came  in  a  letter, — 

And  two  hundred  leagues  from  home,  the  debtor! 

So  out  of  my  life  I  will  dig  a  treasure, 
And  ftast  on  a  reminiscent  pleasure. 

Our  old  New  England  folks,  you  know, 
Little  favor  to  kissing  were  wont  to  show. 

It  smacked,  they  thought,  too  much  of  Satan, 
Whose  hook  often  has  a  pleasant  bate  on. 

And  even  as  token  of  purity's  passion, 
Sometimes,  I  think,  it  was  out  of  fashion. 

So  at  least  in  the  home  my  boyhood  knew, 
And  of  other  homes,  no  doubt,  it  was  true. 

My  grandsire  and  grandma,  of  the  olden  school, 
Were  strict  observers  of  the  proper  rule. 

And  from  New- Year  on  to  the  end  of  December, 
A  kiss  is  something  I  do  not  remember. 

It  seemed,  I  suppose,  an  abomination, 
Somewhat  like  a  Christmas  celebration, 

Or  a  twelfth-day  pudding  in  English  style, 
Whose  plums  are  sweet  as  a  maiden's  smile. 

91 


92  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Hush !  fountains  New  England  fathers  quaffed  at 
Were  surely  something  not  to  be  laughed  at. 

They  drank,  the  heavens  above  and  under, 
Eternity's  abiding  wonder. 

And  here,  I  confess,  in  the  joy  of  the  present, 
The  thought  of  those  days  is  sacredly  pleasant. 

Grandma,  with  the  cares  of  the  household  on  her, 
In  the  morning  smoked  in  the  chimney  corner. 

She  hung  the  tea-kettle  filled  with  water 
While  still  asleep  was  her  youngest  daughter. 

Ah !  there  were  reasons,  good  and  plenty, 
Why  she  should  indulge  that  baby  of  twenty. 

The  rest  were  all  courted  and  married  and  flown, 
And  that  little  birdie  was  left  alone. 

Grandmother,  when  she  had  finished  her  smoking, 
Bustled  about — she  never  went  poking — 

And  fried  the  pork,  and  made  the  tea, 
And  pricked  the  potatoes,  if  done  to  see ; 

While  grandsire  finished  his  chapter  of  snores, 
And  uncle  and  I  were  doing  the  chores. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  the  Bible  \\as  read, 
And  a  prayer  I  still  remember  said. 

fhe  old  folks  in  reverence  bowed  them  down, 
As  those  who  are  mindful  of  cross  and  crown. 

My  uncle  and  aunt,  who  were  unconverted, 
Their  right  to  sit  or  stand  asserted. 

And  I,  I  fear,  to  example  true, 
The  part  of  a  heathen  acted  too. 


WHAT  I  CARRIED  TO  COLLEGE.  93 

But  there  was  always  for  me  a  glory, 
Morning  and  night,  in  that  Bible  story. 

The  heroes  and  saints  of  the  olden  time 
In  beautiful  vision  moved  sublime. 

I  wondered  much  at  the  valor  they  had, 
And  in  wondering  my  soul  was  glad, 

My  wonderment,  I  can  hardly  tell, 

At  the  boldness  Jacob  showed  at  the  well 

In  kissing  Rachel,  when  meeting  her  first ; 
I  wondered  not  into  tears  he  burst. 

Had  I  been  constrained  to  choose  between 
That  deed  at  the  well  and  that  after-scene 

When  David  and  Goliath  met, 

My  heart  on  the  fight  would  have  certainly  set. 

And  yet  there  was  much  for  a  bashful  boy 
To  gather  up  and  remember  with  joy. 

God  bless  my  grandsire's  simple  heart, 
Which  made  up  in  faith  what  it  lacked  in  art, 

And  led  me  on  to  the  best  of  the  knowledge 
Which  years  thereafter  I  carried  to  college. 

Tending  the  cattle  stalled  in  the  "  linter," 
Going  to  school  eight  weeks  in  the  Winter ; 

Planting  and  hoeing  potatoes  and  corn, 
Milking  the  cows  at  night  and  morn ; 

Spreading  and  raking  the  new-mown  hay, 
Stowing  it  in  the  mow  away; 

Gathering  apples,  and  thinking  of  all 

The  joys  of  Thanksgiving  late  in  the  Fall — 


94  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

So  passed  I  the  years  in  such  like  scenes 
Until  I  had  grown  well  into  my  teens. 

And  then,  with  many  a  dream  in  my  heart, 
I  struck  for  myself  and  a  nobler  part ; 

I  hardly  knew  what,  yet  some  higher  good, 
Earning  and  spending  as  fast  as  I  could ; 

Earning  and  spending  in  teaching  and  going 
To  school,  what  time  I  to  manhood  was  growing. 

My  maiden  aunt — and  Providence 

Is  approved  hi  its  blessed  consequence — 

That  baby  of  twenty,  to  thirty  had  grown, 
And  from  the  nest  had  not  yet  flown. 

And  a  childless  aunt,  my  uncle's  wife, 
Had  come  to  gladden  that  quiet  life. 

God  bless  them  both,  for  they  were  ever 
The  foremost  to  second  my  life's  endeavor. 

Our  aunts  sometimes  are  almost  mothers, 
Toiling  and  planning  and  spending  for  others. 

Aunt  Hannah,  the  maiden ;  Aunt  Emily,  wife, — 
How  they  labored  to  gird  me  for  the  strife, 

Cheering  me  on  with  words  befitting, 
Doing  my  sewing  and  doing  my  knitting, 

And  pressing  upon  me  many  a  token 

Whose  meaning  was  more  than  ever  was  spoken! 

At  length  the  time  for  parting  came — 
They  both  in  heaven  will  have  true  fame ! 

They  did  not  bid  me  good-bye  at  the  stile ; 
They  with  me  went  through  the  woods  a  mile. 


Caught  me  in  their  arms,  a  great  baby  of  twenty, 
And  smothered  me  with,  kisses,  not  too  plenty. 


WHAT  I  CARRIED  TO  COLLEGE.  95 

It  was  the  still  September  time, 

When  the  Autumn  fruits  were  in  their  prime. 

Here  and  there  a  patch  of  crimson  was  seen 
Where  the  breath  of  the  early  frost  had  been. 

The  songs  of  the  birds  were  tender  and  sad, 
Yet  I  could  not  say  they  were  not  glad. 

Nature's  soft  and  mellow  undertone 

To  a  note-like  trust  in  the  Father  had  grown. 

And  that  trust,  I  ween,  in  our  hearts  had  sway, 
As  on  through  the  woods  we  wended  our  way. 

Meeting  and  parting  fringe  life  below ; 
We  parted — twenty  years  ago. 

My  aunts  turned  back,  and  on  went  I, 
Striving  my  burning  tears  to  dry. 

Almost  a  thousand  miles  away 

Was  the  Alma  Mater  I  sought  that  day. 

To  a  voice  I  turned  me  on  my  track, 
And  saw  them  both  come  running  back. 

"  Is  something  forgotten  ?"  soon  stammered  I ; 
And  they,  without  a  word  in  reply, 

Caught  me  in  their  arms,  a  great  baby  of  twenty, 
And  smothered  me  with  kisses  not  too  plenty. 

Some  joys  I  had  known  before  that  day, 
And  many  since  have  thronged  my  way; 

But  in  all  my  seeking  through  forty  years, 
In  which  rainbow  hopes  have  dried  all  tears, 

I  have  nothing  found  in  the  paths  of  knowledge, 
Surpassing  those  kisses  I  carried  to  college. 


XII. 

SIR  d©HN 


(BORN  1786— DIED  1847.) 
HEROISM  ON  THE  GREAT  DEEP— A  MARTYR  OF  THE  POLAR  SEA. 


'HE  life  of  this  great  navigator  is  an  epic  of  the 
ocean,  which  will  stir  the  brave  heart  for  many 
ages  to  come. 

One  day,  toward  the  close  of  the  last  century, 
a  young  English  lad,  named  John  Franklin,  spent  a  holiday 
with  a  companion  in  a  walk  of  twelve  miles  from  their 
school  at  Louth,  to  look  at  the  sea  from  the  level  shores  of 
his  native  country.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  boy  had 
ever  gazed  on  the  wonderful  expanse,  and  his  heart  was 
strangely  stirred.  The  youngest  of  four  sons,  he  had  been 
intended  for  the  ministry  of  the  Church  of  England,  but 
that  day's  walk  fixed  his  purposes  in  another  direction ;  and 
though  he  knew  it  not,  he  was  to  serve  God  and  man  even 
more  nobly  by  heroic  deeds  than  he  could  have  done  by  the 
wisest  and  most  persuasive  words. 

Mr.  Franklin  was  a  wise  man,  and  when  he  found  his 
son  bent  on  a  sailor's  life,  determined  to  give  him  a  taste  of 
it,  in  the  hope  that  this  would  be  enough.  John  was  there- 
fore taken  from  school  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and  sent  in  a 
merchantman  to  Lisbon.  The  Bay  of  Biscay,  however,  did 
not  cure  his  enthusiasm ;  and  so  we  next  find  John  Franklin 
as  a  midshipman  on  board  the  Polyphemus,  seventy-four 
guns.  These  were  stirring  times.  In  1801  young  Franklin's 
ship  led  the  line  in  the  battle  of  Copenhagen,  and  in  1805, 
having  been  transferred  to  the  Belhrophon,  he  held  charge 
96 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN.  97 

• 

of  the  signals  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  bravely  standing  at 
his  post  and  coolly  attending  to  his  work  while  the  dead  and 
dying  fell  around  him. 

Between  these  two  dates  Franklin  had  accompanied  an 
exploring  voyage  to  Australia  on  board  the  Investigator, 
gaining  in  that  expedition  not  only  a  great  store  of  facts  to 
be  treasured  up  for  use  in  his  eager  and  retentive  mind,  but 
those  habits  of  observation  which  were  to  be  of  the  greatest 
service  to  him  in  after-years.  On  his  return  home  in  an- 
other vessel — the  Porpoise — Franklin  and  his  companions 
were  wrecked  upon  a  coral  reef,  where  ninety-four  persons 
remained  for  seven  weeks  on  a  narrow  sand-bank  less  than 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  only  four  feet  above  the 
surface  of  the  water! 

It  was  in  1818  that  the  young  lieutenant  first  set  sail  for 
the  Polar  Sea,  as  second  commander  of  the  Trent,  under 
Captain  Buchan.  The  aim  was  to  cross  between  Spitzbergen 
and  Greenland;  but  the  companion  vessel,  the  Dorothea, 
being  greatly  injured  by  the  ice,  the  two  had  to  return  to 
England,  after  reaching  the  eightieth  degree  of  latitude. 

A  year  later  lieutenants  Franklin  and  Parry  were  placed 
at  the  head  of  expeditions,  the  latter  to  carry  on  the  ex- 
ploration through  Baffin's  Bay,  and  to  find  an  outlet,  if  pos- 
sible, by  Lancaster  Sound.  This  was  splendidly  done,  and 
the  North-west  Passage  practically  discovered.  The  task  of 
Franklin  was  more  arduous.  He  had  to  traverse  the  vast 
solitary  wastes  of  North-eastern  America,  with  their  rivers 
and  lakes,  to  descend  to  the  mouth  of  the  Coppermine  River, 
and  to  survey  the  coast  eastward.  The  toil  and  hardship  of 
this  wonderful  expedition,  and  the  brave  endurance  of 
Franklin  and  his  friend  Richardson,  and  their  trusty  helpers, 
have  often  been  related.  They  had  to  contend  with  famine 

and  illness,  with  the  ignorance  and  treachery  of  the  Indians, 

7 


98  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

who  murdered  three  of  the  party.  The  land  journey  alto- 
gether extended  over  5,500  miles,  occupying  a  year  and  six 
months. 

In  less  than  two  years  after  their  return  to  England, 
Franklin,  Richardson,  and  Back  volunteered  for  another  ex- 
pedition to  the  same  region. 

In  1825  this  second  expedition  started,  Franklin  mourn- 
fully leaving  the  deathbed  of  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been 
married  after  his  last  return  to  England.  This  brave  lady 
not  only  let  him  go,  though  she  knew  she  was  dying,  but 
begged  him  not  to  delay  one  day  for  her!  At  New  York 
Franklin  heard  of  her  death,  but  manfully  concealed  his 
grief,  and  pressed  on  to  the  northern  wastes.  As  before,  his 
object  was  to  survey  the  northern  shore,  only  this  time  by 
the  Mackenzie  River,  instead  of  the  Coppermine. 

This  expedition,  too,  was  full  of  stirring  adventure  among 
the  Esquimaux,  though  without  the  terrible  hardships  and 
calamities  of  the  former  journey.  It  was  also  crowned  with 
great  success,  leaving  in  the  end  only  150  miles  of  the  coast 
from  Baffin's  Bay  to  Behring  Straits  unsurveyed.  These, 
too,  were  explored  in  later  years  by  Franklin's  successors, 
and  the  great  discovery  of  the  North-west  Passage  completed. 

Franklin  was  now  made  commander;  in  1829  was 
knighted,  and  covered  with  honors  by  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford and  the  great  learned  societies  in  England  and  France. 
He  had  married  his  second  wife  in  1828 — the  Lady  Franklin 
of  the  later  story.  In  1832  Sir  John  Franklin  was  given  the 
command  of  the  Rainbow,  on  the  Mediterranean  station ; 
and  so  wise  and  gracious  was  his  rule,  that  the  sailors  nick- 
named the  sloop  "  The  Celestial  Rainbow  "  and  "  Franklin's 
Paradise."  But  we  have  no  space  to  speak  of  this  now,  nor 
of  Franklin's  wise  and  gracious  government  of  Van  Die- 
men's  Land,  now  better  known  as  Tasmania,  that  succeeded. 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN.  99 

Lady  Franklin   was  here  his  wise   and  devoted  helper  in 
every  scheme  of  usefulness  and  benevolence. 

Returning  to  England,  he  was  appointed,  in  1845,  to  the 
command  of  an  expedition  for  the  further  discovery  of  the 
North-west  Passage.  The  ships  Erebus  and  Terror  sailed  from 
England  on  the  26th  of  May,  and  were  seen  by  the  crew  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  a  whaler,  on  the  26th  of  July,  in  Mel- 
ville Bay,  for  the  last  time. 

Toward  the  close  of  1847  serious  anxiety  was  aroused  re- 
specting the  fate  of  these  brave  explorers.  The  brave-hearted, 
devoted  wife  of  the  commander  expended  her  whole  fortune 
on  these  endeavors  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  her  hus- 
band. It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  people  of  Tasmania, 
Franklin's  colony,  subscribed  the  sum  of  £1,700  toward  the 
expenses  of  the  search. 

In  the  year  1850  it  was  discovered  that  the  first  Winter 
of  the  explorers  to  the  following  April,  or  later  (1846),  had 
been  spent  at  Beechey  Island,  beyond  Lancaster  Sound,  and 
that  it  had  been  an  active  holiday  time. 

In  1854  an  exploring  party  under  Dr.  Rae  were  told  by 
the  Esquimaux  that  several  white  men,  in  number  about 
forty,  had  been  seen  dragging  a  boat  over  the  ice  near  the 
north  shore  of  King  William's  Land,  and  that  bodies  and 
skeletons  were  afterward  found  on  the  mainland  opposite,  by 
the  banks  of  the  Great  Fish  River.  Many  relics  of  this 
party  were  procured  by  Dr.  Rae  from  the  natives,  and  being 
brought  to  England  were  identified  as  belonging  to  the 
Franklin  explorers.  On  this  Dr.  Rae  received  the  govern- 
ment reward  of  £10,000. 

In  1859  Lady  Franklin  bought  and  fitted  the  yacht  Fox, 
which  she  placed  under  the  command  of  Captain  Leopold 
McClintock.  The  expedition  set  sail  from  Aberdeen,  and, 
on  reaching  King  William's  Land,  divided  into  three  sledg- 


100  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ing  parties,  under  Lieutenant  Hobson,  Captain  Young,  and 
McClintock  himself.  In  Boothia  several  relics  were  dis- 
covered, such  as  would  be  dropped  or  left  behind  by  men 
too  weak  to  carry  the  usual  belongings  of  a  boat  or  sledge. 
At  Point  Victory  a  cairn,  or  heap  of  stones,  was  discovered 
by  Lieutenant  Hobson,  with  a  paper,  inclosed  in  a  tin  case, 
which  too  clearly  told  its  sad  story.  After  a  memorandum 
of  progress  up  to  May  28,  1847,  "  All  well,"  it  was  added 
on  the  same  paper:  "April  25,  1848.  H.  M.  ships  Terror 
and  Erebus  were  deserted  22d  April,  five  leagues  N.  W.  of 
this,  having  been  beset  since  12th  September,  1846.  The 
officers  and  crews,  consisting  of  105  souls,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Captain  F.  R.  M.  Crozier,  landed  here  in  latitude 
69  degrees,  37  minutes,  42  seconds  N.,  longitude  98  degrees 
41  minutes  "W.  Sir  John  Franklin  died  on  the  llth  June, 
1847;  and  the  total  loss  by  deaths  in  the  expedition  has 
been,  to  this  date,  nine  officers  and  fifteen  men.  Signed,  F. 
R.  M.  Crozier,  Captain  and  Senior  Officer;  James  Fitz- 
james,  Captain  H.  M.  S.  Erebus.  And  start  on  to-morrow, 
26th  April,  1848,  for  Back's  Fish  River."  From  this  point 
two  boats,  with  heavily  laden  sledges,  seem  to  have  been 
dragged  forward  while  strength  lasted.  One  boat  was  left 
on  the  shore  of  King  "William's  Land,  and  was  found  by 
Captain  McClintock,  with  two  skeletons;  also  boats  and 
stores  of  various  kinds,  five  watches,  two  double-barreled 
guns,  loaded,  a  few  religious  books,  a  copy  of  the  "  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,"  twenty-six  silver  spoons  and  forks,  and  many 
other  articles.  The  Esquimaux  related  that  the  men  drag- 
ging the  boat  "  dropped  as  they  walked."  The  other  boat 
was  crushed  in  the  ice.  No  trace,  but  a  floating  spar  or 
two,  and  driftwood  embedded  in  ice,  was  ever  found  of  the 
Erebus  or  Terror. 

Truly  the  "Franklin   relics,"  brought   from  amid   the 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN.  101 

regions  of  snow  and  ice,  are  a  possession  of  which  those 
know  the  value  who  know  how  great  a  thing  it  is  to  walk 
on  in  the  path  of  duty,  with  brave  defiance  of  peril,  and, 
above  all,  a  steadfast  dependence  upon  God. 

Mr.  William  L.  Bird,  a  young  man  of  great  promise, 
deaf  from  his  seventh  year,  who  died  in  Hartford,  Conn., 
in  1879,  left  among  his  papers  a  little  poem  which  well  ex- 
presses the  mood  of  Lady  Franklin  in  her  lonely  years : 

THE  OCEAN. 

I  stand  alone 

On  wave-washed  stone 
To  fathom  thine  immensity, 

With  merry  glance 

Thy  wide  expanse 
Smiles,  O !  so  brightly  upon  me. 
Art  thou  nay  friend,  blue,  sparkling  sea? 

With  your  cool  breeze 

My  brow  you  ease, 
And  brush  the  pain  and  care  away. 

Your  waves,  the  while, 

With  sunny  smile, 
Around  my  feet  in  snowy  spray 
Of  fleecy  lightness  dance  and  play. 

So  light  of  heart, 

So  void  of  art, 
Your  waves'  low  laugh  is  mocking  me. 

I  hear  their  voice — 

"  Come,  play,  rejoice ; 
Come,  be  as  happy  as  are  we ; 
Why  should  you  not  thus  happy  be  ?" 

Alas !  I  know 

That,  deep  below, 
And  tangled  up  in  sea-weeds,  lies, 

Where  light  dares  not 

Disturb  the  spot, 

He  who  alone  can  cheer  my  eyes. 
O  sea!  why  wear  this  sparkling  guise! 


XIII. 


(BORN  1682— DIED  1762.) 

A  QUAKER  COURTSHIP,  IN  WHICH  SHE  WAS  THE  PRINCIPAL  ACTOR. 


[HE  story  of  Elizabeth  Haddon  is  as  charming  as 
any  pastoral  poem  that  was  ever  written.  She 
was  the  oldest  daughter  of  John  Haddon,  a  well- 
educated  and  wealthy  Quaker  of  London.  She 
had  two  sisters,  both  of  whom,  with  herself,  received  the 
best  education  of  that  day.  Elizabeth  possessed  uncommon 
strength  of  mind,  earnestness,  energy,  and  originality  of 
character,  and  a  heart  overflowing  with  the  kindest  and 
warmest  feelings.  The  following  points  in  her  life,  as  far  as 
necessary  for  the  setting  of  the  main  picture,  are  drawn 
chiefly  from  the  beautiful  narrative  by  Lydia  Maria  Child, 
and  almost  in  her  own  words. 

At  one  time,  during  her  early  childhood,  she  asked  to 
have  a  large  cake  baked,  because  she  wanted  to  invite  some 
little  girls.  All  her  small  funds  were  expended  for  oranges 
and  candy  on  this  occasion.  When  the  time  arrived,  her 
father  and  mother  were  much  surprised  to  see  her  lead  in  six 
little  ragged  beggars.  They  were,  however,  too  sincerely 
religious  and  sensible  to  express  any  surprise.  They  treated 
the  forlorn  little  ones  very  tenderly,  and  freely  granted  their 
daughter's  request  to  give  them  some  of  her  books  and  play- 
things at  parting.  When  they  had  gone,  the  good  mother 
quietly  said,  "Elizabeth,  why  did'st  thou  invite  strangers, 
instead  of  thy  schoolmates?"  There  was  a  heavenly  ex- 
102 


ELIZABETH  ESTAUGH.  103 

pression  in  her  eye,  as  she  looked  up  earnestly,  and  answered, 
"  Mother,  I  wanted  to  invite  them,  they  looked  so  poor." 

When  eleven  years  of  age,  she  accompanied  her  parents 
to  the  yearly  meeting  of  the  Friends,  where  she  heard, 
among  other  preachers,  a  very  young  man  named  John 
Estaugh,  with  whose  manner  of  presenting  divine  truth  she 
was  particularly  pleased.  Many  of  his  words  were  treasured 
in  her  memory.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  she  made  a  pro- 
fession of  religion,  uniting  herself  with  the  Quakers. 

During  her  early  youth,  William  Penn  visited  the  house 
of  her  father,  and  greatly  amused  her  by  describing  his 
adventures  with  the  Indians.  From  that  time  she  became 
interested  in  the  emigrant  Quakers,  and  began  to  talk  of 
coming  to  America.  Her  father  at  length  purchased  a  tract 
of  land  in  New  Jersey,  with  the  view  of  emigrating,  but  his 
affairs  took  a  new  turn,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  remain 
in  his  native  land.  This  decision  disappointed.  She  had 
cherished  the  conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  come  to  this 
country  ;  and  when,  at  length,  her  father,  who  was  unwilling 
that  any  of  his  property  should  lie  unimproved,  offered  the 
tract  of  land  in  New  Jersey  to  any  relative  who  would  settle 
upon  it,  she  promptly  agreed  to  accept  of  the  proffered 
estate.  Willing  that  their  child  should  follow  in  the  path 
of  duty,  at  the  end  of  three  months,  after  much  prayer,  the 
parents  consented  to  let  Elizabeth  join  "the  Lord's  people"  in 
the  New  World. 

Accordingly,  early  in  the  Spring  of  1700,  arrangements 
were  made  for  her  departure,  and  all  things  were  provided 
that  abundance  of  wealth  or  the  ingenuity  of  affection 
could  devise. 

A  poor  widow,  of  good  sense  and  discretion,  accompanied 
her  as  friend  and  housekeeper,  and  two  trusty  men-servants, 
members  of  the  Society  of  Friends.  Among  the  many 


104  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

singular  manifestations  of  strong  faith  and  religious  zeal, 
connected  with  the  settlement  of  this  country,  few  are  more 
remarkable  than  the  voluntary  separation  of  this  girl  of 
eighteen  from  a  wealthy  home  and  all  the  pleasant  associa- 
tions of  childhood,  to  go  to  a  distant  and  thinly  inhabited 
country-  to  fulfill  what  she  deemed  a  religious  duty.  And 
the  humble,  self-sacrificing  faith  of  the  parents,  in  giving  up 
their  child,  with  such  reverent  tenderness  for  the  prompt- 
ings of  her  own  conscience,  has  in  it  something  sublimely 
beautiful,  if  we  look  at  it  in  its  own  pure  light.  The  part- 
ing took  place  wTith  more  love  than  words  can  express,  and 
yet  without  a  tear  on  either  side.  Even  during  the  long 
and  tedious  voyage,  Elizabeth  never  wept.  She  preserved 
a  martyr-like  cheerfulness  to  the  end. 

The  house  prepared  for  her  reception  stood  in  a  clearing 
of  the  forest,  three  miles  from  any  other  dwelling.  She  ar- 
rived in  June,  when  the  landscape  was  smiling  in  youthful 
beauty;  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  arch  of  heaven  was 
never  before  so  clear  and  bright,  the  carpet  of  the  earth  never 
so  verdant.  As  she  sat  at  her  window  and  saw  evening  close 
in  upon  her  in  that  broad  forest  home,  and  heard  for  the 
first  time  the  mournful  notes  of  the  whippowil  and  the  harsh 
scream  of  the  jay  in  the  distant  woods,  she  was  oppressed 
with  a  sense  of  vastness,  of  infinity,  which  she  never  before 
experienced,  not  even  on  the  ocean.  She  remained  long  in 
prayer,  and  when  she  lay  down  to  sleep  beside  her  matron 
friend,  no  words  were  spoken  between  them.  The  elder, 
overcome  with  fatigue,  soon  sank  into  a  peaceful  slumber; 
but  the  young  enthusiast  lay  long  awake,  listening  to  the 
lone  voice  of  the  whippowil  complaining  to  the  night.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  this  prolonged  wakefulness,  she  arose  early 
and  looked  out  upon  the  lovely  landscape.  The  rising  sun 
pointed  to  the  tallest  trees  with  his  golden  finger,  and  was 


ELIZABETH  ESTAUGH.  105 

welcomed  by  a  gush  of  song  from  a  thousand  warblers.  The 
poetry  in  Elizabeth's  soul,  repressed  by  the  severe  plainness 
of  her  education,  gushed  up  like  a  fountain.  She  dropped 
on  her  knees,  and,  with  an  outburst  of  prayer,  exclaimed 
fervently;  "O  Father,  very  beautiful  hast  thou  made  this 
earth!  How  beautiful  are  thy  gifts,  O  Lord!" 

To  a  spirit  less  meek  and  brave,  the  darker  shades  of  the 
picture  would  have  obscured  these  cheerful  gleams;  for  the 
situation  was  lonely,  and  the  inconveniences  innumerable. 
But  Elizabeth  easily  triumphed  over  all  obstacles,  by  prac- 
tical good  sense  and  the  quick  promptings  of  her  ingenuity. 
She  was  one  of  those  clear,  strong  natures,  who  always  have 
a  definite  aim  in  view,  and  who  see  at  once  the  means  best 
suited  to  the  end.  Her  first  inquiry  was  what  grain  was  best 
suited  to  the  soil  of  her  farm,  and  being  informed  that  rye 
would  yield  best, "  Then  I  shall  eat  rye  bread,"  was  her  answer. 
But  when  Winter  came,  and  the  gleaming  snow  spread  its  un- 
broken silence  over  hill  and  plain,  was  it  not  dreary  then  ?  It 
would  have  been  dreary  to  one  who  entered  upon  this  mode 
of  life  from  mere  love  of  novelty,  or  a  vain  desire  to  do 
something  extraordinary.  But  the  idea  of  extended  useful- 
ness, which  had  first  lured  this  remarkable  girl  into  a  path 
so  unusual,  sustained  her  through  all  trials.  She  was  too 
busy  to  be  sad,  and  leaned  too  trustingly  on  her  Father's  hand 
to  be  doubtful  of  her  way.  The  neighboring  Indians  soon 
loved  her  as  a  friend,  for  they  found  her  always  truthful,  just, 
and  kind.  From  their  teachings  she  added  much  to  her 
knowledge  of  simple  medicines.  So  efficient  was  her  skill, 
and  so  prompt  her  sympathy,  that  for  many  miles  around,  if 
man,  woman,  or  child  were  alarmingly  ill,  they  were  sure  to 
send  for  Elizabeth  Haddon ;  and,  wherever  she  went,  her  ob- 
serving mind  gathered  some  hint  for  farm  or  dairy.  Her 
house  and  heart  were  both  large,  and  as  her  residence  was  on 


106  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  way  to  the  Quaker  meeting-house  in  Newtown,  it  became 
a  place  of  universal  resort  to  Friends  from  all  parts  of  the 
country  traveling  that  road,  as  well  as  an  asylum  for  be- 
nighted wanderers. 

The  Winter  was  drawing  to  a  close,  when,  late  one  even- 
ing, the  sound  of  sleigh-bells  was  heard,  and  the  crunching 
of  snow  beneath  the  hoofs  of  horses  as  they  passed  into  the 
barn-yard  gate.  The  arrival  of  travelers  was  too  common  an 
occurrence  to  excite  or  disturb  the  well-ordered  family. 

Great  logs  were  piled  in  the  capacious  chimney,  and  the 
flames  blazed  up  with  a  crackling  warmth,  when  two  stran- 
gers entered.  In  the  younger  Elizabeth  instantly  recognized 
John  Estaugh,  whose  preaching  had  so  deeply  impressed  her 
at  eleven  years  of  age.  This  was  almost  like  a  glimpse  of 
home — her  dear  old  English  home.  She  stepped  forward 
with  more  than  usual  cordiality,  saying: 

"  Thou  art  welcome,  Friend  Estaugh,  the  more  so  for 
being  entirely  unexpected." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Elizabeth,"  he  replied,  with  a 
friendly  shake  of  the  hand.  "  It  was  not  until  after  I  landed 
in  America  that  I  heard  the  Lord  had  called  thee  here  be- 
fore me;  but  I  remember  thy  father  told  me  how  often  thou 
hadst  played  the  settler  in  the  woods  when  thou  wast  quite  a 
little  girl." 

"  I  am  but  a  child  still,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

"I  trust  thou  art,"  he  rejoined;  "and  as  for  these  strong 
impressions  in  childhood,  I  have  heard  of  many  cases  where 
they  seemed  to  be  prophecies  sent  of  the  Lord.  When  I  saw 
thy  father  in  London,  I  had  even  then  an  indistinct  idea  that 
I  might  sometime  be  sent  to  America  on  a  religious  visit." 

"And,  hast  thou  forgotten,  friend  John,  the  ear  of  Indian 
corn  which  my  father  begged  of  thee  for  me  ?  I  can  show  it 
to  thee  now.  Since  then  I  have  seen  this  grain  in  perfect 


ELIZABETH  ESTA  UGH.  107 

growth,  and  a  goodly  plant  it  is,  I  assure  thee.  See,"  she 
continued,  pointing  to  many  bunches  of  ripe  corn  which  hung 
in  their  braided  husks  against  the  walls  of  the  ample  kitchen, 
"all  that,  and  more,  came  from  a  single  ear  no  bigger  than 
the  one  thou  didst  give  my  father.  May  the  seed  sown  by 
thy  ministry  be  as  fruitful!" 

"  Amen,"  replied  both  the  guests. 

The  next  morning  it  was  discovered  that  the  snow  had 
fallen  during  the  night  in  heavy  drifts,  and  the  roads  were 
impassable.  Elizabeth,  according  to  her  usual  custom,  sent 
out  men,  oxen,  and  sledges  to  open  pathways  for  several 
poor  families,  and  for  households  whose  inmates  were  visited 
by  illness.  In  this  duty  John  Estaugh  and  his  friend  joined 
heartily,  and  none  of  the  laborers  worked  harder  than  they. 
When  he  returned,  glowing  from  this  exercise,  she  could  not 
but  observe  that  the  excellent  youth  had  a  goodly  counte- 
nance. It  was  not  physical  beauty ;  for  of  that  he  had  but 
little.  It  was  that  cheerful,  child-like,  out-beaming  honesty 
of  expression,  which  we  not  unfrequently  see  in  Germans, 
who,  above  all  nations,  look  as  if  they  carried  a  crystal  heart 
within  their  manly  bosoms. 

Two  days  after,  when  Elizabeth  went  to  visit  her  patients, 
with  a  sled-load  of  medicines  and  provisions,  John  asked 
permission  to  accompany  her.  There,  by  the  bedside  of  the 
aged  and  the  suffering,  she  saw  the  clear  sincerity  of  his  coun- 
tenance warmed  with  rays  of  love,  while  he  spoke  to  them 
words  of  kindness  and  consolation;  and  then  she  heard  his 
pleasant  voice  modulate  itself  into  deeper  tenderness  of  ex- 
pression, when  he  took  little  children  in  his  arms. 

The  next  First  Day,  which  we  call  the  Sabbath,  the  whole 
family  attended  Newtown  meeting;  and  there  John  Estaugh 
was  gifted  with  an  outpouring  of  the  Spirit  in  his  ministry, 
which  sank  deep  into  the  hearts  of  those  who  listened  to 


108  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WO. VEX. 

him.  Elizabeth  found  it  so  remarkably  applicable  to  the 
trials  and  temptations  of  her  own  soul,  that  she  almost 
deemed  it  was  spoken  on  purpose  for  her.  She  said  nothing 
of  this,  but  she  pondered  upon  it  deeply.  Thus  did  a  few 
days  of  united  duties  make  them  more  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  each  other  than  they  could  have  been  by  years  of 
fashionable  intercourse. 

The  young  preacher  soon  after  bade  farewell,  to  visit 
other  meetings  in  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey.  Elizabeth 
saw  him  no  more  until  the  May  following,  when  he  stopped 
at  her  house  to  lodge,  with  numerous  other  Friends,  on  their 
way  to  the  quarterly  meeting  at  Salem.  In  the  morning 
quite  a  cavalcade  dashed  from  her  hospitable  door  on  horse- 
back; for  wagons  were  then  unknown  in  Jersey.  John 
Estaugh,  always  kindly  in  his  impulses,  busied  himself  with 
helping  a  lame  and  very  ugly  old  woman,  and  left  his  hostess 
to  mount  her  horse  as  she  could.  Most  young  women  would 
have  felt  slighted;  but  in  Elizabeth's  noble  soul  the  quiet, 
deep  tide  of  feeling  rippled  with  an  inward  joy.  "He  is 
always  kindest  to  the  poor  and  the  neglected,"  thought  she; 
"  verily,  he  is  a  good  youth."  She  was  leaning  over  the  side 
of  her  horse,  to  adjust  the  buckle  of  the  girth,  \vhen  he 
came  up  on  horseback  and  inquired  if  any  thing  was  out 
of  order.  She  thanked,  with  a  slight  confusion  of  manner, 
and  a  voice  less  calm  than  her  usual  utterance.  He  assisted 
her  to  mount,  and  they  trotted  along  leisurely  behind  the 
procession  of  guests,  speaking  of  the  soil  and  climate  of 
this  new  country,  and  how  wonderfully  the  Lord  had  here 
provided  a  home  for  his  chosen  people.  Presently  the  girth 
began  to  slip,  and  the  saddle  turned  so  much  on  one  side 
that  Elizabeth  was  obliged  to  dismount.  It  took  some 
time  to  readjust  it,  and  when  they  again  started,  the  com- 
pany were  out  of  sight.  There  was  brighter  color  than  usual 


ELIZABETH  ESTAUGH.  109 

in  the  maiden's  cheeks,  and  unwonted  radiance  in  her  mild 
deep  eyes.  After  a  short  silence  she  said,  in  a  voice  slightly 
tremulous:  "Friend  John,  I  have  a  subject  of  importance 
on  my  mind,  and  one  which  nearly  interests  thee.  I  am 
strongly  impressed  that  the  Lord  has  sent  thee  to  me  as  a 
partner  for  life.  I  tell  thee  my  impression  frankly,  but  not 
without  calm  and  deep  reflection;  for  matrimony  is  a  holy 
relation,  and  should  be  entered  into  with  all  sobriety.  If 
thou  hast  no  light  on  the  subject,  wilt  thou  gather  into  the 
stillness  and  reverently  listen  to  thy  own  inward  revealings? 
Thou  art  to  leave  this  part  of  the  country  to-morrow,  and 
not  knowing  when  I  should  see  thee  again,  I  felt  moved  to 
tell  thee  what  lay  upon  my  mind."  . 

The  young  man  was  taken  by  surprise.  Though  accus- 
tomed to  that  suppression  of  emotion  which  characterizes 
his  religious  sect,  the  color  went  and  came  rapidly  in  his 
face  for  a  moment ;  but  he  soon  became  calmer  and  said : 
"This  thought  is  new  to  me,  Elizabeth,  and  I  have  no  light 
thereon.  Thy  company  has  been  right  pleasant  to  me,  and 
thy  countenance  ever  reminds  me  of  William  Penn's  title- 
page,  'Innocency  with  her  open  face.'  I  have  seen  thy 
kindness  to  the  poor,  and  the  wise  management  of  thy  house- 
hold. I  have  observed,  too,  that  thy  warm-heartedness  is 
tempered  by  a  most  excellent  discretion,  and  that  thy  speech 
is  ever  sincere.  Assuredly,  such  is  the  maiden  I  would  ask 
of  the  Lord  as  a  most  precious  gift;  but  I  never  thought  of 
this  connection  with  thee.  I  came  to  this  country  solely  on 
a  religious  visit,  and  it  might  distract  my  mind  to  entertain 
this  subject  at  present.  When  I  have  discharged  the  duties 
of  my  mission,  we  will  speak  further." 

"  It  is  best  so,"  rejoined  the  maiden ;  "  but  there  is  one 
thing  which  disturbs  my  conscience.  Thou  hast  spoken  of 
my  true  speech ;  and  yet,  friend  John,  I  have  deceived  thee 


110  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

a  little,  even  now,  while  we  conferred  together  on  a  subject 
so  serious.  I  know  not  from  what  weakness  the  temptation 
came;  but  I  will  not  hide  it  from  thee.  I  allowed  thee  to 
suppose,  just  now,  that  I  was  fastening  the  girth  of  my 
horse  securely;  but,  in  plain  truth,  I  was  loosening  the  girth, 
John,  that  the  saddle  might  slip,  and  give  me  an  excuse  to 
fall  behind  our  friends;  for  I  thought  thou  wouldst  be  kind 
enough  to  come  and  ask  if  I  needed  thy  services." 

They  spoke  no  further  concerning  their  union ;  but  when 
he  returned  to  England  in  July,  he  pressed  her  hand  affec- 
tionately, as  he  said :  "  Farewell,  Elizabeth.  If  it  be  the 
Lord's  will  I  shall  return  to  thee  soon." 

In  October. he  returned  to  America,  and  they  were  soon 
married,  at  Newtown  meeting,  according  to  the  simple  form 
of  the  Society  of  Friends.  Neither  of  them  made  any  change 
of  dress  for  the  occasion,  and  there  was  no  wedding-feast. 
Without  the  aid  of  priest  or  magistrate,  they  took  each  other 
by  the  hand,  and,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  calmly  and 
solemnly  promised  to  be  kind  and  faithful  to  each  other. 
The  wedded  pair  quietly  returned  to  their  happy  home,  with 
none  to  intrude  on  those  sacred  hours  of  human  life,  when 
the  heart  most  needs  to  be  left  alone  with  its  own  deep 
emotions. 

During  the  long  period  of  their  union,  she  three  times 
crossed  the  Atlantic  to  visit  her  aged  parents,  and  he  occa- 
sionally left  her  for  a  season,  when  called  abroad  to  preach. 
These  temporary  separations  were  felt  as  a  cross ;  but  the 
strong-hearted  woman  always  cheerfully  gave  him  up  to 
follow  his  own  convictions  of  duty.  In  1 742  he  parted  from 
her  to  go  on  a  religious  visit  to  Tortola,  in  the  West  Indies. 
He  died  there  in  the  sixty-seventh  year  of  his  age.  She 
published  a  religious  tract  of  his,  to  which  she  prefixed  a 
preface  entitled,  "  Elizabeth  Estaugh's  Testimony  concerning 


ELIZABETH  ESTA UGH.  Ill 

her  Beloved  Husband,  John  Estaugh."  In  this  preface  she 
says:  "Since  it  pleased  divine  Providence  so  highly  to 
favor  me  with  being  the  near  companion  of  this  dear  worthy, 
I  must  give  some  small  account  of  him.  Few,  if  any,  in  a 
married  state  ever  lived  in  sweeter  harmony  than  we  did.  He 
was  a  pattern  of  moderation  in  all  things;  not  lifted  up  with 
any  enjoyments,  nor  cast  down  at  any  disappointments;  a  man 
endowed  with  many  good  gifts,  which  rendered  him  very 
agreeable  to  his  friends  and  much  more  to  me,  his  wife,  to 
whom  his  memory  is  most  dear  and  precious." 

Elizabeth  survived  her  excellent  husband  twenty  years, 
useful  and  honored  to  the  last.  The  monthly  meeting  of 
Haddonfi eld,  in  a  published  testimonial,  speaks  of  her  thus : 
"She  was  endowed  with  great  natural  abilities,  which,  being 
sanctified  by  the  spirit  of  Christ,  were  much  improved; 
wThereby  she  became  qualified  to  act  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Church,  and  was  a  serviceable  member,  having  been  clerk  to 
the  women's  meeting  nearly  fifty  years,  greatly  to  their  satis- 
faction. She  was  a  sincere  sympathizer  with  the  afflicted,  of 
a  benevolent  disposition,  and  in  distributing  to  the  poor,  was 
desirous  to  do  it  in  a  way  most  profitable  and  durable  to  them, 
and,  if  possible,  not  to  let  the  right  hand  know  what  the  left 
did.  Though  in  a  state  of  affluence  as  to  this  world's  wealth, 
she  was  an  example  of  plainness  and  moderation.  Her  heart 
and  house  were  open  to  her  friends,  whom  to  entertain 
seemed  one  of  her  greatest  pleasures.  Prudently  cheerful, 
and  well  knowing  the  value  of  friendship,  she  wras  careful 
not  to  wound  it  herself,  nor  to  encourage  others  by  whisper- 
ing supposed  failings  or  weaknesses.  Her  last  illness  brought 
great  bodily  pain,  which  she  bore  with  much  calmness  of 
mind  and  sweetness  of  spirit.  She  departed  this  life  as  one 
falling  asleep,  full  of  days,  like  unto  a  shock  of  corn, 
fully  ripe." 


112  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

The  town  of  Haddonfield,  in  New  Jersey,  took  its  name 
from  her;  and  the  tradition  concerning  her  courtship  is  often 
repeated  by  some  patriarch  among  the  Quakers. 

Her  medical  skill  is  so  well  remembered,  that  the  old 
nurses  of  New  Jersey  still  recommend  Elizabeth  Estaugh's 
salve  as  the  "  sovereignest  thing  on  earth." 

The  following  beautiful  lines  from  Whittier,  though  in- 
spired by  another,  well  apply  to  this  Quakeress  of  the  olden 
time: 

As  pure  and  sweet,  her  fair  brow  seemed 

Eternal  as  the  sky ; 
And  like  the  brook's  low  song,  her  voice, — 

A  sound  that  could  not  die. 

And  half  we  deemed  she  needed  not 

The  changing  of  her  sphere, 
To  give  to  heaven  a  shining  one, 

Who  walked  an  angel  here. 

The  blessing  of  her  quiet  life 

Fell  on  us  like  the  dew ; 
And  good  thoughts,  where  her  footsteps  pressed, 

Like  fairy  blossoms  grew. 

Sweet  promptings  unto  kindest  deeds 

Were  in  her  very  look  ; 
We  read  her  face  as  one  who  reads 

A  true  and  holy  book. 

»  *  *  » 

We  miss  her  in  the  place  of  prayer, 

And  by  the  hearth-fire's  light; 
We  pause  beside  her  door  to  hear 

Once  more  her  sweet  "  Good-night." 

•s  *  *  * 

Still  let  her  mild  rebuking  stand 

Between  us  and  the  wrong, 
And  her  dear  memory  serve  to  make 

Our  faith  in  goodness  strong. 


XIV. 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  OF  THE  CRIMEA— PUTS  DOWN  THE  GREAT  TAIPING 
REBELLION   IN  CHINA   IN   1863-4— HERO   OF  THE  SOUDAN- 
BEARDS  THE  MEN-STEALERS  IN  THEIR    STRONG- 
HOLDS, AND  MAKES  THE  PEOPLE  LOVE  HIM. 


'T  the  present  writing  (Summer  of  1884),  General 
Gordon,  who  has  won  the  heart  of  the  world  by 
his  brave  deeds,  .is  exciting  a  great  deal  of  interest 
on  account  of  his  perilous  position  in  Khartoum. 
A  sketch  of  his  career  will  be  acceptable  to  not  a  few  readers. 
The  likeness  which  accompanies  this  chapter  is  from  a 
photograph  taken  not  long  ago  at  Southampton,  England; 
but  no  portrait  gives  the  expression  of  the  man.  His  smile 
and  his  light-blue  eyes  can  not  be  painted  by  the  sun.  The 
rather  small  physique,'and  mild  and  gentle  look,  would  not  lead 
the  ordinary  observer  to  recognize  in  General  Gordon  a  ruler 
and  leader  of  men;  but  a  slight  acquaintance  shows  him  to 
be  a  man  of  unusual  power  and  great  force  of  character. 

His  religious  fervor  and  boundless  faith  are  proverbial — so 
much  so  that  some  men  call  him  a  fatalist;  whilst  others  say, 
like  Festus,  "Thou  art  beside  thyself."  Neither  of  these 
judgments  is  true,  though  it  is  certainly  true  that,  from  a  de- 
sire to  oblige  others,  Gordon  has  sometimes  made  errors  in 
judgment  that  have  led  him  into  sad  dilemmas.  To  say  noth- 
ing of  his  second  visit  to  the  Soudan,  to  oblige  Ismail  Pasha, 
and  his  rash  and  most  dangerous  embassy  to  King  John  of 
Abyssinia,  to  oblige  Tewfik  Pasha,  we  need  but  allude  to 
his  unwise  acceptance  of  the  post  of  private  secretary  to  Lord 
Ripon  in  India.  He  was  overpersuaded,  and  to  please  others 

8  113 


114  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

he  sacrificed  himself.  To  those  who  knew  him,  it  was  not 
surprising  that  almost  the  first  thing  he  did  on  landing  at 
Bombay  was  to  throw  up  his,  appointment  and  rush  off  to 
China,  where  he  was  instrumental  in  preventing  war  between 
that  country  and  Russia. 

The  active  life  of  General  Gordon,  who  is  about  fifty  years 
old,  may  be  divided  into  the  following  sections :  the  Crimea 
and  Bessarabia;  China  (the  suppression  of  the  Taiping  re- 
bellion) ;  Gravesend  (the  making  of  the  defenses  at  Tilbury)  ; 
and  the  Soudan.  A  later  and  shorter  episode  occurs  in  his 
visit  to  Mauritius  and  the  Cape,  the  latter  colony  being  the 
only  place  in  which  his  great  capabilities  and  high  character 
were  unappreciated. 

In  the  Crimea  General  Gordon  worked  steadily  in  the 
trenches,  and  won  the  praise  of  his  superior  officers  for  his 
skill  in  detecting  the  movements  of  the  Russians.  Indeed, 
he  was  specially  told  off*  for  this  dangerous  duty.  Lord 
Wolseley,  then  a  captain,  was  a  fellow-worker  with  Gordon 
before  Sebastopol. 

In  1856  Gordon  was  occupied  in  laying  down  the  bound- 
aries of  Russia,  in  Turkey  and  Roumania,  for  which  work 
he  was  in  a  peculiar  manner  well  fitted,  and  he  resided  in 
the  East,  principally  in  Armenia,  until  the  end  of  1858. 
During  this  time  he  ascended  both  Little  and  Great  Ararat. 

In  1860  he  was  ordered  to  China,  and  assisted  at  the  taking 
of  Pekin  and  the  sacking  and  burning  of  the  Summer  Palace. 
This  work  did  not  seem  to  be  much  to  his  taste. 

China  was  the  country  destined  to  give  to  the  young  en- 
gineer the  sobriquet  by  which  he  is  now  best  known — "  Chi- 
nese "  Gordon.  Here  he  first  developed  that  marvelous  power, 
which  he  still  holds  above  all  other  men,  of  engaging  the 
confidence,  respect,  and  love  of  wild  and  irregular  soldiery. 

The  great  Taiping  rebellion,  which  was  commenced  soon 


"  CHINESE"  GORDON.  115 

after  1842  by  a  sort  of  Chinese  Mahdi — a  fanatical  village 
schoolmaster — had  attained  such  dimensions  that  it  had  over- 
run and  desolated  a  great  portion  of  Southern  China,  and 
threatened  to  drive  the  foreigners  into  the  sea.  Nanking, 
with  its  porcelain  tower,  had  been  taken,  and  was  made  the 
capital  of  the  Heavenly  King,  as  the  rebel  chieftain,  Hung, 
now  called  himself.  His  army  numbered  some  hundreds  of 
thousands,  divided  under  five  Wangs,  or  kings,  and  the  Im- 
perialists were  driven  closer  and  closer  to  the  cities  of  the 
seacoast. 

In  1863  the  British  Government  was  applied  to  for  assist- 
ance, and  Captain  Gordon  was  selected  to  take  command  of 
the  Imperial  forces  in  the  place  of  an  American  adventurer 
named  Burgevine,  who  had  been  cashiered  for  corrupt  prac- 
tices. The  Ever-victorious  Army,  as  it  was  called,  numbered 
4,000  men,  when  the  young  engineer  took  the  command. 
Carefully  and  gradually  he  organized  and  increased  it,  and 
as  he  always  led  his  men  himself,  and  ever  sought  the  post 
of  danger,  he  soon  obtained  their  fullest  confidence,  and  never 
failed  to  rally  them  to  his  support. 

He  wore  no  arms,  but  always  carried  a  small  cane,  with 
which  he  waved  on  his  men,  and  as  stockade  after  stockade 
fell  before  him,  and  city  after  city  was  taken,  that  little  cane 
was  looked  upon  as  Gordon's  magic  wand  of  victory.  He 
seemed  to  have  a  charmed  life,  and  was  never  disconcerted 
by  a  hailstorm  of  bullets.  Occasionally,  when  the  Chinese 
officers  flinched  and  fell  back  before  the  terrible  fusillade, 
he  would  quietly  take  one  by  the  arm  and  lead  him  into  the 
thickest  of  the  enemy's  fire,  as  calmly  as  though  he  were 
taking  him  in  to  dinner.  Once,  when  his  men  wavered  under 
a  hail  of  bullets,  Gordon  coolly  lighted  his  cigar,  and  waved 
his  magic  wand ;  his  soldiers  accepted  the  omen,  came  on 
with  a  rush,  and  stormed  the  defense.  He  was  wounded 


116  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

once  only,  by  a  shot  in  the  leg,  but  even  then  he  stood  giving 
his  orders  till  he  nearly  fainted,  and  had  to  be  carried  away. 

Out  of  100  officers  he  lost  almost  one-half  in  his  terrible 
campaign,  besides  nearly  one-third  of  his  men.  But  he 
crushed  the  rebellion,  and  rescued  China  from  the  grasp  of 
the  most  cruel  and  ruthless  of  spoilers.  His  own  estimate 
was  that  his  victories  had  saved  the  lives  of  100,000  human 
beings. 

Then  he  left  China  without  taking  one  penny  of  reward. 
Honors  and  wealth  were  poured  at  his  feet,  but  he  accepted 
only  such  as  were  merely  honorary.  He  was  made  a  Ti-Tu — 
the  hightest  title  to  which  a  subject  can  attain — and  he  re- 
ceived the  Orders  of  the  Star,  the  Yellow  Jacket,  and  the 
Peacock's  Feather.  AVhen,  however,  the  Imperial  mes- 
sengers brought  into  his  room  great  boxes  containing  £10,000 
in  coin,  he  drove  them  out  in  anger.  The  money  he  divided 
amongst  his  troops.  And  yet  he  might  well  have  taken  even 
a  larger  sum.  One  who  knew  how  deeply  the  empire  was 
indebted  to  him,  wrote,  "  Can  China  tell  how  much  she  is 
indebted  to  Colonel  Gordon  ?  Would  20,000,000  taels  repay 
the  actual  service  he  has  rendered  to  the  empire  ?" 

Gordon  returned  home  to  England,  and,  avoiding  all  the 
flattering  notice  that  was  continually  thrust  upon  him,  he 
retired  to  his  work  at  Gravesend,  where,  from  1865  to  1871, 
he  labored  at  the  construction  of  the  Thames  Defenses. 

Here  he  passed  six  of  the  happiest  years  of  his  life — in 
active  work,  in  deep  seclusion  from  the  world  of  wealth  and 
fashion,  but  in  a  state  of  happiness  and  peace.  His  house 
was  school,  hospital,  and  almshouse,  and  he  lived  entirely  for 
others.  "  The  poor,  the  sick,  the  unfortunate  were  welcome, 
and  never  did  supplicant  knock  vainly  at  his  door." 

Gutter  children  were  his  especial  care.  These  he  cleansed 
and  clothed,  and  the  boys  he  trained  for  a  life  at  sea.  His 


"CHINESE"  GORDON.  117 

evening  classes  were  his  delight,  and  he  read  and  taught  his 
children  with  the  same  ardor  with  which  he  had  led  the 
Chinese  troops  into  battle.  For  the  boys  he  found  suitable 
places  on  board  vessels  respectably  owned,  and  he  never  lost 
sight  of  his  proteges.  A  large  map  of  the  world,  stuck  over 
with  pins,  showed  him  at  a  glance  where  he  had  last  heard 
from  one  of  these  rescued  waifs.  "  God  bless  the  Kernel," 
was  chalked  upon  many  a  wall  in  Gravesend ;  and  well  might 
the  poor  bless  the  man  who  personified  to  them  the  life  and 
daily  walk  of  one  who  "  had  been  with  Jesus."  t  To  them  he 
was  the  "  Good  Samaritan,"  pouring  in  oil  and  wine ;  and 
they  blessed  and  reverenced  him,  and  gave  him  a  love 
which  he  valued  more  than  royal  gifts. 

We  must,  however,  hasten  on,  and  see  him,  transferred 
from  Gravesend  to  the  Danube,  and  thence  to  the  Soudan. 
He  succeeded  Sir  Samuel  Baker  in  the  government  of  these 
distant  territories  in  Egypt  in  1873.  The  Khedive  Ismail 
offered  him  £10,000  a  year,  but  he  would  only  accept  £2,000, 
as  he  knew  the  money  would  have  to  be  extorted  from  the 
wretched  fellaheen.  His  principal  work  was  to  conquer  the 
insurgent  slave-dealers  who  had  taken  possession  of  the 
country  and  enslaved  the  inhabitants.  The  lands  south  of 
Khartoum  had  long  been  occupied  by  European  traders,  who 
dealt  in  ivory,  and  had  thus  "  opened  up  the  country."  This 
opening  up  was  a  terrible  scourge  to  the  natives,  because 
these  European  traffickers  soon  began  to  find  out  that "  black 
ivory"  was  more  valuable  than  white.  So  they  formed 
fortified  posts,  called  sceribas,  and  garrisoned  them  with 
Arab  ruffians,  who  harried  the  country  and  organized  man- 
hunts on  a  gigantic  scale.  The  profits  were  enormous,  but 
the  "bitter  cry"  of  Africa  began  to  make  itself  heard  in  dis- 
tant Europe,  and  the  so-called  Christian  slave-dealers  found 
it  more  prudent  to  withdraw.  This  they  did  without  loss, 


118  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

for  they  sold  their  stations  to  Arabs,  and  the  trade  in  human 
beings  went  on  as  merrily  as  ever.  Dr.  Schweinfurth,  the 
African  explorer  and  botanist,  visited  one  of  these  slave- 
dealing  princes  in  1871,  and  found  him  surrounded  by  an 
almost  regal  court,  and  possessed  of  more  than  vice-regal 
power.  He  was  lord  of  thirty  stations,  all  strongly  fortified, 
and  stretching  like  a  chain  into  the  very  heart  of  Africa. 
Thus  his  armies  of  fierce  soldiery,  Arab  and  black,  were 
able  to  make  raids  over  whole  provinces,  and  gather  in  the 
great  human  harvest  to  supply  the  demands  of  Egypt, 
Turkey,  and  Arabia.  This  famous  man  was  named  Sebehr 
Rahma;  and  although  he  was  defeated  by  Colonel  Gordon 
and  sent  down  to  Cairo,  he  never  quite  lost  favor  at  the 
Egyptian  Court,  and  was  not  long  since  appointed  com- 
mander in  chief  of  the  Soudan,  to  uphold  the  power  of 
Egypt  against  the  Mahdi!  The  scandals  of  the  slave- 
trade,  combined  with  the  lust  of  conquest,  were  the  causes 
out  of  which  grew  the  famous  expedition  of  Sir  Samuel 
Baker  to  the  Soudan.  The  love  of  conquest  made  it  pleas- 
ing in  the  eyes  of  the  Khedive  Ismail,  and  the  desire  to  up- 
root the  infamous  slave-trade  obtained  for  the  enterprise  the 
warm  approval  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  hearty  co- 
operation of  Sir  Samuel  Baker,  who  displayed  the  greatest 
courage  and  energy  in  the  conduct  of  the  enterprise. 

From  this  first  expedition  the  two  succeeding  ones  of 
Colonel  Gordon  may  be  said  to  have  arisen.  The  struggle 
against  the  slave-hunters  had  developed  into  a  war,  and  the 
Khedive  began  to  fear  that  their  power  would  grow  until  his 
own  position  at  Cairo  might  become  endangered.  The  slave- 
king  Sebehr  must  be  destroyed,  together  with  his  numerous 
followers  and  satellites. 

Gordon  was  not  long  in  perceiving  why  he  was  selected 
for  the  office  of  governor;  for  we  find  him  writing  home, 


"CHINESE"  GORDON.  119 

"  I  think  I  can  see  the  true  motive  of  the  expedition,  and 
believe  it  to  be  a  sham  to  catch  the  attention  of  the  English 
people."  With  him,  however,  it  was  no  sham.  He  was 
determined  to  do  what  he  was  professedly  sent  to  do,  viz. : 
put  down  the  slave-trade.  "  I  will  do  it,"  he  said,  "  for  I 
value  my  life  as  naught,  and  should  only  leave  much  wea- 
riness for  perfect  peace." 

How  hard  he  found  his  task  to  ameliorate  the  condition 
of  the  wretched  inhabitants,  we  perceive  from  such  an  out- 
burst as  this,  amongst  many  similar :  "  What  a  mystery,  is 
it  not?  Why  are  they  created?  A  life  of  fear  and  misery, 
night  and  day !  One  does  not  wonder  at  their  not  fearing 
death.  No  one  can  conceive  the  utter  misery  of  these  lands — 
heat  and  mosquitoes  day  and  night  all  the  year  round. 
But  I  like  the  work,  for  I  believe  I  can  do  a  great  deal  to 
ameliorate  the  lot  of  the  people." 

This  spirit  of  unselfishness  and  of  a  sublime  charity  runs 
through  all  his  work.  Every  man,  black  or  white,  was 
"  neighbor "  to  him,  and  he  ever  fulfilled  the  command  of 
his  Lord,  to  "  love  his  neighbor  as  himself."  Against  oppres- 
sion he  could,  however,  be  stern  and  severe.  Not  a  few 
ruffians  whom  he  caught  red-handed  in  flagrant  acts  of 
cruelty  were  executed  without  mercy.  So  that  the  same 
man  who,  by  the  down-trodden  people,  was  called  the  "  Good 
Pasha,"  was  to  the  robber  and  murderer  a  terror  and  avenger. 

When  at  Khartoum  he  was  on  one  occasion  installed  with 
a  royal  salute,  and  an  address  was  presented,  and  in  return  he 
was  expected  to  make  a  speech.  His  speech  was  as  follows : 
"  With  the  help  of  God,  I  will  hold  the  balance  level."  The 
people  were  delighted,  for  a  level  balance  was  to  them  an 
unknown  boon.  And  he  held  it  level  all  through  his  long 
and  glorious  reign,  which  lasted,  with  small  break,  from 
February,  1874,  until  August,  1879. 


120  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

During  those  five  years  and  a  half  he  had  traveled  over 
every  portion  of  the  huge  territory  which  was  placed  under 
him — provinces  extending  all  the  way  to  the  Equatorial 
Lakes.  Besides  riding  through  the  deserts  on  camels  and 
mules  8,490  miles  in  three  years,  he  made  long  journeys  by 
river.  He  conveyed  a  large  steamer  up  the  Nile  as  far  as 
Lake  Albert  Nyanza,  and  succeeded  in  floating  her  safely  on 
the  waters  of  that  inland  sea.  He  had  established  posts  all 
the  way  from  Khartoum  to  Gondokora,  and  reduced  that 
enormous  journey  from  fifteen  months  to  only  a  few  weeks. 
He  writes  respecting  these  posts  in  January,  1879:  "I  am 
putting  in  all  the  frontier  posts  European  Vakeels,  to  see 
that  no  slave  caravans  come  through  the  frontier.  I  do  not 
think  that  any  now  try  to  pass;  but  the  least  neglect  of  vigi- 
lance would  bring  it  on  again  in  no  time." 

This  is  only  one  out  of  hundreds  of  instances  of  the 
hawk-eyed  vigilance  of  the  governor-general.  The  vast 
provinces  under  his  sway  had  never  been  ruled  in  this 
fashion  before. 

One  strain  runs  through  all  his  numerous  letters  written 
during  the  five  years  he  remained  in  the  Soudan,  and  that  is 
the  heart-rending  condition  of  the  thousands  of  slaves  who 
were  driven  through  the  country,  and  the  cruelty  of  the 
slave-hunters.  Were  we  to  begin  quoting  from  those  letters, 
we  should  outrun  the  limits  of  this  sketch.  He  had  broken 
the  neck  of  the  piratical  army  of  man-stealers,  and  their 
forces  were  scattered  and  comparatively  powerless.  So  many 
slaves  were  set  free  that  they  became  a  serious  inconvenience, 
as  they  had  to  be  fed  and  provided  for. 

And  yet  there  was  no  shout  of  joy  at  the  capital,  whence 
he  had  set  out  years  before,  armed  with  the  firman  of  the 
khedive  to  put  an  end  to  the  slave  trade.  On  the  contrary, 
we  find  him  saying:  "What  I  complain  of  in  Cairo  is  the 


"CHINESE"  GORDON.  121 

complete  callousness  with  which  they  treat  all  these  questions, 
while  they  worry  me  for  money,  knowing  by  my  budgets 
that  I  can  not  make  my  revenue  meet  my  expenses  by  £90,000 
a  year.  The  destruction  of  Sebehr's  gang  is  the  turning-point 
of  the  slave-trade  question,  and  yet,  never  do  I  get  one  word 
from  Cairo  to  support  me." 

One  more  extract : 

"  Why  should  I,  at  every  mile,  be  stared  at  by  the  grin- 
ning- skulls  of  those  who  are  at  rest? 

"  I  said  to  Yussef  Bey,  who  is  a  noted  slave-dealer,  '  The 
inmate  of  that  ball  has  told  Allah  what  you  and  your  people 
have  done  to  him  and  his.' 

"Yussef  Bey  says,  'I  did  not  do  it!'  and  I  say,  'Your 
nation  did,  and  the  curse  of  God  will  be  on  your  land  till 
this  traffic  ceases.'" 

This  man,  Yussef  Bey,  was  one  of  the  most  cruel  of  the 
slave-hunters,  and  renowned  for  the  manner  in  which  he 
tortured  his  victims,  more  especially  the  young  boys.  He 
also  cruelly  murdered  the  interesting  and  peaceful  king  of 
the  Monbuttos,  so  graphically  described  in  Schweinfurth's 
"Heart  of  Africa." 

In  June,  1882,  Yussef  Bey  met  his  deserts,  for  going  out 
with  an  army  of  Egyptian  troops  to  meet  the  Mahdi,  he  and 
all  his  men  were  cut  to  pieces,  scarcely  one  surviving. 

Much  of  Gordon's  time,  during  his  first  expedition,  had 
been  occupied  in  strengthening  the  Egyptian  posts  south  of 
Gondokoro,  stretching  away  toward  the  country  of  King 
M'tesa.  So  badly  were  they  organized  that  it  took  him 
twenty-one  months  to  travel  from  Gondokoro  to  Foweira  and 
Mrooli,  his  southernmost  points.  There  he  found  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  interfere  with  the  rival  kings  of  that 
region  without  becoming  involved  in  a  war,  and  he  returned 
from  the  lake  districts  "  with  the  sad  conviction  that  no  good 


122  BRAVE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

could  be  done  in  those  parts,  and  that  it  would  have  been 
better  had  no  expedition  ever  been  sent." 

We  conclude  our  imperfect  sketch  with  the  following 
quotation,  describing  General  Gordon's  resignation : 

"  I  am  neither  a  Napoleon  nor  a  Colbert,"  was  his  reply 
to  some  one  who  spoke  to  him  in  praise  of  his  beneficent 
rule  in  the  Soudan;  "I  do  not  profess  either  to  have  been 
a  great  ruler  or  a  great  financier;  but  I  can  say  this:  I 
have  bearded  the  slave-dealers  in  their  strongholds,  and  I 
made  the  people  love  me." 

What  Gordon  had  done  was  to  justify  Ismail's  descrip- 
tion of  him  eight  months  before.  "They  say  I  do  not  trust 
Englishmen;  do  I  mistrust  Gordon  Pasha?  That  is  an 
honest  man;  an  administrator,  not  a  diplomatist!" 

Apart  from  the  difficulties  of  serving  the  new  khedive, 
Gordon  longed  for  rest.  The  first  year  of  his  rule,  during 
which  he  had  done  his  own  and  other  men's  work,  the  long 
marches,  the  terrible  climate,  the  perpetual  anxieties,  had  all 
told  upon  him.  Since  then  he  had  had  three  years  of  des- 
perate labor,  and  had  ridden  some  8,500  miles.  Who  can 
wonder  that  he  resented  the  impertinences  of  the  pashas, 
whose  interference  was  not  for  the  good  of  his  government 
or  of  his  people,  but  solely  for  their  own? 

But  it  was  not  for  him  to  stay  on  and  complain.  To 
one  of  the  worst  of  these  pashas  he  sent  a  telegram  which 
ran,  "Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin."  Then  he  sailed  for 
England,  bearing  with  him  the  memory  of  the  enthusiastic 
crowd  of  friends  who  bade  him 'farewell  at  Cairo.  It  is 
said  that  his  name  sends  a  thrill  of  love  and  admiration 
through  the  Soudan  even  yet.  A  hand  so  strong  and  so 
beneficent  had  never  before  been  laid  on  the  people  of  that 
unhappy  land. 


XV. 

rs  WIVES. 

Bns  OF  COMMON  SENSE  AND  WISDOM  ON  A  GREAT  SUBJECT. 


OMELY  phrases  sometimes  carry  in  them  a  truth 
which  is  passed  over  on  account  of   its  frequent 
repetition,  and  thus  they  fail  to  effect  the  good 
they  are  intended  to  do.     For  instance,  there  is 
one  with  reference  to  woman,  which  asserts  that  she  is  man's 
"  better  half;"  and  this  is  said  so  often,  half  in  satire  and 
half  in  jest,  that  few  stop  to  inquire  whether  woman  really 
be  so.     Yet  she  is  in  good  truth   his   better  half;  and  the 
phrase,  met  with  in  French  or  Latin,  looks  not  only  true 
but  poetical,  and  in  its  foreign  dress  is  cherished  and  quoted. 
She  is  not  the  wiser — in  a  worldly  sense — certainly  not  the 
stronger,  nor  the  cleverer,  notwithstanding  what   the   pro- 
moters of  the  Woman's  Rights  movements  may  say;  but  she 
is  the  better.     All  must  feel,  indeed,  that,  if  the  whole  sins 
of  the  present  world  could  be,  and  were,  parceled  into  two 
huge  heaps,  those  committed  by  the  men  would  far  exceed 
those  of  the  women.     We  doubt  whether  any  reflective  man 
will  deny  this.    On  the  other  hand,  the  active  virtues  of  man, 
his  benevolence  and  good  deeds,  might  equal  those  of  woman  ; 
but  his  passive  virtues,  his  patience  and  his  endurance,  would 
be  much  smaller.     On   the  whole,  therefore,  woman  is  the 
much  better  half;  and  there  is  no  good  man  but  owes  an 
immense  deal  to  the  virtues  of  the  good  women  about  him. 
He  owes,  too,  a  considerable  deal  of  evil  to  their  influence, 
not  only  of  the  absolutely  bad,  for  those  a  pure  man  shuns, 
but   the   half-good    and    respectably  selfish  women    of  so- 

123 


124  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ciety — these  are  they  who  undermine  his  honesty,  his  be- 
nevolence, and  his  purity  of  mind. 

The  influence  man  receives  from  woman  is  of  a  very 
mixed  character.  But  of  all  the  influence  which  woman  has 
over  man,  that  which  is  naturally  most  permanent,  for  good 
or  evil,  arises  from  the  marriage  tie.  How  we  of  the  cold 
North  have  been  able  to  emancipate  woman  from  the  de- 
plorable depth  into  which  polygamy  would  place  her,  it  is 
not  easy  to  say.  That  it  is  a  state  absolutely  countenanced — 
nay,  enjoined — in  the  Old  Testament,  it  would  be  useless  to 
deny.  But  custom  and  fair  usance  are  stronger  than  the  Old 
Testament ;  and  the  Jews,  who  readily  adopt  the  laws  of  the 
country  under  which  they  live,  forbid  polygamy  to  their 
brethren  in  Christian  lands,  whilst  they  permit  and  practice 
it  where  it  exists,  as  with  the  Mahometan  and  Hindoo. 
Under  its  influence  the  character  of  woman  is  terribly 
dwarfed.  She  sinks  to  nothing  where  she  would  be,  as  she 
should  be,  of  half  the  importance  of  life  at  least. 

To  preserve  her  position,  it  will  be  necessary  for  all  good 
women  to  try  and  elevate  the  condition  of  their  sisters. 
With  all  of  us,  "  the  world  is  too  much  with  us,  day  by  day;" 
and  worldly  success  plays  so  large  a  part  in  the  domestic 
drama,  that  woman  is  everywhere  perceptibly  influenced  by 
it.  Hence,  to  return  to  the  closer  consideration  of  the  subject 
from  our  own  point  of  view,  the  majority  of  men's  wives  in 
the  upper  and  middle  classes  fall  far  short  of  that  which  is 
required  of  a  good  wife.  They  are  the  wives  not  made  by 
love,  but  by  the  chance  of  a  good  match.  They  are  the 
products  of  worldly  prudence,  not  of  a  noble  passion ;  and, 
although  they  may  be  very  comfortable  and  very  well  clad, 
though  they  may  think  themselves  happy,  and  wear  the  very 
look  of  health  and  beauty,  they  can  never  be  to  their  hus- 
bands what  a  wife  of  true  and  real  tender  love  would  be. 


MEN'S  WIVES.  125 

The  consequence  is  that,  after  the  first  novelty  has  passed 
away,  the  chain  begins  to  rub  and  the  collar  to  gall.  "  The 
girl  who  has  married  for  money,"  writes  a  clergyman,  "  has 
not  by  that  rash  and  immoral  act  blinded  her  eyes  to  other 
and  nobler  attractions.  She  may  still  love  wisdom,  though 
the  man  of  her  choice  may  be  a  fool ;  she  will  none  the  less 
desire  gentle,  chivalrous  affection  because  he  is  purse-proud 
and  haughty ;  she  may  sigh  for  manly  beauty  all  the  more 
because  he  is  coarse  and  ugly;  she  will  not  be  able  to  get 
rid  of  her  own  youth,  and  all  it  longs  for,  by  watching  his 
silver  hair."  No ;  and,  while  there  comes  a  curse  upon  her 
union — whilst  in  the  long,  long  evenings,  in  the  cold  Spring 
mornings,  and  in  the  still  Summer  days,  she  feels  that  all 
worth  living  for  is  gone,  while  she  is  surrounded  by  all  her 
body  wants — her  example  is  corrupting  others.  The  scorned 
lover,  who  was  rejected  because  he  was  poor,  goes  away  to 
curse  woman's  fickleness  and  to  marry  some  one  whom  he 
can  not  love;  and  the  thoughtless  girls,  by  whom  the  glitter 
of  fortune  is  taken  for  the  real  gold  of  happiness,  follow  the 
venal  example,  and  flirt  and  jilt  till  they  fancy  that  they 
have  secured  a  good  match. 

Many  women,  after  they  have  permanently  attached  a 
husband  of  this  sort,  sit  down,  with  all  the  heroism  of 
martyrs,  to  try  to  love  the  man  they  have  accepted,  but 
not  chosen.  They  find  it  a  hard,  almost  an  impossible  task. 
Then  comes  the  moment  so  bitterly  predicted  by  Milton, 
who  no  doubt  drew  from  his  own  feeling  and  experience, 
when  he  put  into  the  mouths  of  our  first  parents  the 
prophecy  that  either  man  should  never  find  the  true  partner 
of  his  choice,  or  that,  having  found  her,  she  should  be  in 
possession  of  another.  This  is  far  too  often  true,  and  can 
not  fail  to  be  the  source  of  a  misery  almost  too  bitter  to  be 
long  endured. 


126  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

It  says  much  for  our  Anglo-Saxon  wives  that  their  con- 
stancy has  passed  into  many  proverbs.  When  a  woman 
really  loves  the  man  who  marries  her,  the  match  is  generally 
a  happy  one ;  but,  even  where  it  is  not,  the  constancy  of  the 
wife's  affection  is  something  to  be  wondered  at  and  admired. 
No  after  ill-usage,  no  neglect,  or  want  of  love,  will  remove 
the  affection  once  given.  No  doubt  all  women,  when  they 
fall  in  love,  do  so  with  that  which  they  conceive  to  be  great 
and  noble  in  the  character  of  the  object.  But  they  still  love 
on  when  all  the  glitter  of  novelty  has  fallen  off,  and  when 
they  have  been  behind  the  scenes  and  found  how  bare  and 
gloomy  was  the  framework  of  the  scene  they  admired.  All 
illusions  may  be  gone;  the  hero  may  have  sunk  into  the 
cowardly  braggart;  the  saint  into  the  hypocritical  sinner; 
the  noble  aspirant  into  a  man  whose  mouth  alone  utters  but 
empty  words  which  his  heart  can  never  feel ;  but  still  true 
love  remains,  "  nor  alters  where  it  alteration  finds."  The 
duration  of  this  passion,  the  constancy  of  this  affection,  sur- 
prises many ;  but,  adds  a  writer,  such  persons — 

"  Know  not  woman,  the  blest  being 
Who,  like  a  pitying  angel,  gifts  the  mean 
And  sordid  nature  even  with  more  love 
Than  falls  to  the  lot  of  him  who  towers  above 
His  fellow-men ;  like  parasitic  flowers 
That  grow  not  on  high  temples,  where  the  showers 
And  light  of  heaven  might  nourish,  but  alone 
Cloth  the  rent  altar  and  the  fallen  stone." 

There  must  be  some  great  reason,  some  combination  of 
feeling,  for  this.  M.  Ernest  Feydeau,  in  a  popular  story  of 
very  bad  principles,  seems  to  hit  the  right  nail  "on  the  head. 
"  What  woman,"  he  asks,  "  would  not  love  her  husband,  and 
be  ever  true  to  him,  without  thinking  of  a  lover,  if  her  hus- 
band would  give  her  that  which  a  lover  gives  her,  not  alone 
attention,  politeness,  and  a  cold  friendship,  but  a  little  of 


MEN'S  WIVES.  127 

that  balm  which  is  the  very  essense  of  our  existence — a  little 
love?"  Probably  these  very  bad  men,  for  whom  women 
will  so  generously  ruin  themselves,  are,  by  their  nature,  soft 
and  flattering;  and,  after  cruelties  and  excesses,  will,  by  soft 
words  and  Belial  tongues,  bind  to  them  yet  more  closely  the 
hearts  of  their  victims. 

The  ideal  wife  has  been  often  painted,  but  the  real  far 
exceeds  her.  When  Ulric  von  Hutten  wrote  to  Frederick, 
he  painted  such  a  portrait  as  must  have  made  that  staunch 
advocate  for  the  marriage  of  the  clergy  glow  with  admira- 
tion. "Da  mihi  uxorem,"  he  commences.  "  Get  me  a  wife, 
Frederick,  after  my  own  heart,  such  as  you  know  I  should 
like — neat,  young,  fairly  educated,  modest,  patient ;  one  with 
whom  I  may  joke  and  play,  and  yet  be  serious ;  to  whom  I 
may  babble  and  talk,  mixing  hearty  fun  and  kisses  together; 
one  whose  presence  will  lighten  ray  anxiety  and  soften  the 
tumult  of  my  cares." 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  great  majority  of  wives 
equal  this  ideal.  United  to  such  a  woman,  a  man  becomes 
better.  He  can  never  be  the  perfect  man  unless  married. 
With  marriage  he  undertakes  those  duties  of  existence  which 
he  is  born  to  fulfill.  The  excitements  of  life  and  of  business, 
the  selfishness  of  daily  existence,  diminish;  the  generosities 
of  the  heart  expand  ;  the  health  of  the  mind  becomes  daily 
more  robust;  small  repressions  of  selfishness,  daily  conces- 
sions, and  daily  trials,  render  him  better ;  the  woman  of  his 
choice  becomes  his  equal,  and  in  lifting  her  he  lifts  himself. 
He  may  not  be  a  genius,  nor  she  very  clever ;  but,  once  truly 
married,  the  real  education  of  life  begins.  That  is  not  edu- 
cation which  varnishes  a  man  or  a  woman  over  with  the 
pleasant  and  shining  accomplishments  which  fit  us  for  society, 
but  that  which  tends  to  improve  the  heart,  to  bring  forward 
the  reflective  qualities,  and  to  form  a  firm  and  regular  char- 


128  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

acter ;  that  which  cultivates  the  reason,  subdues  the  passions, 
restrains  them  in  their  proper  place,  trains  us  to  self-denial, 
makes  us  able  to  bear  trials,  and  to  refer  them,  and  all  our 
sentiments  and  feelings  to  their  proper  source ;  which  makes 
us  look  beyond  this  world  into  the  next.  A  man's  wife,  if 
properly  chosen,  will  aid  in  all  this.  The  most  brilliant  and 
original  thinker,  and  the  deepest  philosopher  we  have — he 
who  has  written  books  which  educate  the  statesmen  and  the 
leaders  of  the  world — has  told  us  in  his  last  preface  that 
he,  having  lost  his  wife,  has  lost  his  chief  inspiration. 
Looking  back  at  his  works,  he  traces  all  that  is  noble,  all 
that  is  advanced  in  thought  and  grand  in  idea,  and  all  that 
is  true  in  expression,  not  to  a  poet  or  a  teacher,  but  to  his 
own  wife;  in  losing  her  he  says  he  has  lost  much,  but  the 
world  has  lost  more.  So,  also,  two  men,  very  opposite  in 
feelings,  in  genius,  and  in  character,  and  as  opposite  in  their 
pursuits,  declared  at  a  late  period  in  their  lives — lives  spent 
in  industry  and  hard  work,  and  in  expression  of  what  the 
world  deemed  their  own  particular  genius — "  that  they  owed 
all  to  their  wives."  These  men  were  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
Daniel  O'Connell.  "  The  very  gods  rejoice,"  says  Menu  the 
sage,  "  when  the  wife  is  honored.  When  the  wife  is  injured, 
the  whole  family  decays;  when  the  contrary  is  the  case,  it 
flourishes."  This  may  be  taken  as  an  eternal  truth — as  one 
of  those  truths  not  to  be  put  by,  not  to  be  argued  down  by 
casual  exceptions.  It  is  just  as  true  of  nations  as  it  is  of 
men;  of  the  whole  people  as  it  is  of  individual  families.  So 
true  it  is,  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  piece  of  very  sound 
advice  when  we  counsel  all  men,  married  or  single,  to 
choose  only  such  men  for  their  friends  as  are  happy  in  their 
wedded  lives.  No  man  can  afford  to  know  a  broken  family. 
Quarreling,  discord,  and  connubial  disagreements  are  catch- 
ing. With  unhappiness  at  home,  no  man  is  safely  to  be 


MEN'S  WIVES.  129 

trusted,  no  woman  to  be  sought  in  friendship.  The  fault 
may  not  be  his  or  hers,  but  it  must  be  between  them.  A 
man  and  woman  must  prove  that  they  can  be  a  good  hus- 
band and  wife  before  they  can  be  admitted  to  have  proved 
that  they  are  good  citizens.  Such  a  verdict  may  seem 
harsh,  but  it  is  necessary  and  just.  Young  people  just  mar- 
ried can  not  possibly  afford  to  know  unhappy  couples;  and 
they,  in  their  turn,  may,  with  mutual  hypocrisy,  rub  on  in 
the  world  ;  but  in  the  end  they  feel  that  the  hypocrisy  can  not 
be  played  out.  They  gradually  withdraw  from  their  friends 
and  acquaintance,  and  nurse  their  own  miseries  at  home. 

All  good  men  feel,  of  course,  that  any  distinctive  sepa- 
ration of  the  sexes,  all  those  separate  gatherings  and  marks 
which  would  divide  woman  from  man,  and  set  her  upon  a 
separate  pedestal,  are  as  foolish  as  they  are  really  impracti- 
cable. You  will  find  no  one  who  believes  less  in  what  cer- 
tain philanthropists  call  the  emancipation  of  women  than  a 
happy  mother  and  wife.  She  does  not  want  to  be  emanci- 
pated; and  she  is  quite  unwilling  that,  instead  of  being  the 
friend  and  ally  of  man,  she  should  be  his  opponent.  She 
feels  truly  that  the  woman's  cause  is  man's. 

"  For  woman  is  not  undeveloped  man, 
But  diverse.     Could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 
Sweet  love  were  slain,  whose  dearest  bond  is  this — 
Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference." 

The  very  virtues  of  woman,  not  less  than  her  faults,  fit 
her  for  her  attachment  to  man.  There  is  no  man  so  bad  as 
not  to  find  some  pitying  woman  who  will  admire  and  love 
him;  and  no  man  so  wise  but  that  he  shall  find  some  woman 
equal  to  the  full  comprehension  of  him,  ready  to  understand 
him  and  to  strengthen  him.  With  such  a  woman  he  will 
grow  more  tender,  ductile,  and  appreciative;  the  man  will 
be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man.  Whether  society,  as  it  is 

9 


130  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

at  present  constituted,  fits  our  young  women  to  be  the  good 
wives  they  should  be  is  another  question.  In  lower  middle 
life,  and  with  the  working  classes,  it  is  asserted  that  the  wo- 
men are  not  sufficiently  taught  to  fulfill  their  mission  prop- 
erly ;  but,  if  in  large  towns  the  exigencies  of  trade  use  up  a 
large  portion  of  the  female  population,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
they  can  not  be  at  the  same  time  good  mill-hands,  book- 
binders, shopwomen,  and  mothers,  cooks,  and  housewives. 
We  may  well  have  recourse  to  public  cookery,  and  talk 
about  working  men's  dinners — thus  drifting  from  an  oppo- 
site  point  into  the  coming  socialism — when  we  absorb  all 
the  home  energies  of  the  woman  in  gaining  money  sufficient 
for  her  daily  bread.  Yet  these  revelations,  nor  those  yet 
more  dreadful  ones  which  come  out  daily  in  some  of  our  law 
courts,  are  not  sufficient  to  make  us  overlook  the  fact  that 
with  us  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  marriages  are  happy 
ones,  and  that  of  men's  wives  we  still  can  write  as  the  most 
eloquent  divine  who  ever  lived,  Jeremy  Taylor,  wrote,  "A  good 
wife  is  Heaven's  last,  best  gift  to  man — his  angel  and  minis- 
ter of  graces  innumerable — his  gem  of  many  virtues — his 
casket  of  jewels.  Her  voice  is  sweet  music — her  smiles  his 
brightest  day — her  kiss  the  guardian  of  his  innocence — her 
arms  the  pale  of  his  safety,  the  balm  of  his  health,  the  bal- 
sam of  his  life — her  industry  his  surest  wealth — her  economy 
his  safest  steward — her  lips  his  faithful  counselors — her  bo- 
som the  softest  pillow  of  his  cares — and  her  prayers  the  ablest 
advocate  of  Heaven's  blessings  on  his  head." 


XVI. 


WHAT  THE   "BREAD   WINNERS"  LIKE   IN   THEIR  WIVES— A  LITTLE 
CONSTITUTIONAL  OPPOSITION. 


T  would  not  be  holding  the  balance  of  the  sexes 
fairly,  if  after  saying  all  that  can  be  said  in  favor 
of  men's  wives,  we  did  not  say  something  on  the 
side  of  women's  husbands.  In  these  clever  days 
the  husband  is  a  rather  neglected  animal.  Women  are  anxious 
enough  to  secure  a  specimen  of  the  creature,  but  he  is  very 
soon  "shelved"  afterwards;  and  women  writers  are  now  so 
much  occupied  in  contemplating  the  beauties  of  their  own 
more  impulsive  sex  that  they  neglect  to  paint  ideals  of  good 
husbands.  There  has  been  also  too  much  writing  tend- 
ing to  separate  the  sexes.  It  is  plain  that  in  actual  life 
all  the  virtues  can  not  be  on  one  side,  and  all  the  faults  on 
the  other;  yet  some  women  are  not  ashamed  to  write  and 
speak  as  if  such  were  really  the  case.  The  wife  is  taught  to 
regard  herself  as  a  woman  with  many  wrongs,  because  her 
natural  rights  are  denied  her.  She  is  cockered  up  into  a  do- 
mestic martyr,  and  is  bred  into  an  impatience  of  reproof 
which  is  very  harmful  and  very  ungraceful.  If  we  look 
about  us,  we  find  that  in  our  cities,  especially,  this  is  pro- 
ducing some  very  sad  results.  Some  of  the  men  are  get- 
ting very  impatient  at  the  increasing  demands  of  women 
for  attention,  for  place,  and  for  consideration ;  and,  on 
merely  selfish  grounds,  it  is  hardly  doubtful  whether  our 
women  in  the  upper  and  middle  classes  do  not  demand  too 
much.  It  is  evident  that,  as  society  is  constituted,  man  is 

131 


1 32  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  working  and  woman,  generally,  the  ornamental  portion 
of  it,  at  least  in  those  classes  to  which  Providence  or  society 
has  given  what  we  call  comfortable  circumstances.  Woman 
may  do,  and  does  do,  a  great  deal  of  unpleasant,  tiresome 
work ;  she  fritters  away  her  time  upon  occupations  which 
require  "frittering;"  but  beyond  that  she  does  not  do  the 
"paying"  work.  The  husband,  or  houseband,  still  produces 
the  money.  He  is  the  poor,  plain,  working  bee ;  and  the 
queen  bee  too  often  sits  in  regal  state  in  her  comfortable 
hive  while  he  is  toiling  and  moiling  abroad. 

It  results  from  the  different  occupations  of  the  two  sexes, 
that  the  husband  comes  home  too  often  worried,  cross,  and 
anxious;  that  he  finds  in  his  wife  a  woman  to  whom  he  can 
not  tell  his  doubts  and  fears,  his  humiliations  and  experience. 
She,  poor  woman,  with  little  sense  of  what  the  world  is,  with- 
out any  tact,  may  bore  him  to  take  her  to  fresh  amusements 
and  excitements;  for,  while  he  has  been  expending  both 
brain  and  body,  she  has  been  quietly  at  home.  A  certain 
want  of  tact,  not  unfrequenly  met  with  in  wives,  often  sets 
the  household  in  a  flame  of  anger  and  quarreling,  which 
might  be  avoided  by  a  little  patience  and  care  on  the  part  of 
the  wife. 

It  is  not  in  human  nature  for  a  man  who  has  been  hard 
at  work  all  day  to  return  to  his  home  toiled  and  weary,  or 
with  his  mind  agitated  after  being  filled  with  many  things, 
and  to  regard  with  complacency  little  matters  which  go  awry, 
but  which  at  another  time  would  not  trouble  him.  The 
hard-working  man  is  too  apt  to  regard  as  lazy  those  who 
work  less  than  himself,  and  he  therefore  looks  upon  the 
slightest  unreadiness  or  want  of  preparation  in  his  wife  as 
neglect.  Hence  a  woman,  if  she  be  wise,  will  be  constantly 
prepared  for  the  return  of  her  husband.  He,  after  all,  is 
the  bread-winner;  and  all  that  he  requires  is  an  attention 


WOMEN'S  HUSBANDS.  133 

less  by  far  than  we  should  ordinarily  pay  to  a  guest.  In 
the  good  old  Scotch  song,  which  thrills  our  heart  every  time 
it  is  sung,  and  makes  us  remember,  however  skeptical  we 
may  have  grown,  the  true  worth  and  divinity  of  love,  the 
wife's  greatest  pleasure  is  that  of  looking  forward  to  the  re- 
turn of  her  husband.  She  puts  011  her  best  clothes  and  her 
sweetest  smile ;  she  clothes  her  face  with  that  fondness  which 
only  a  wife's  look  can  express ;  she  makes  her  children  look 
neat  and  pretty — "gi'es  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown,  and 
Jock  his  Sunday  coat"  because  the  husband  is  returning. 
There  is  not  a  prettier  picture  throughout  the  whole  range 
of  literature.  How  her  love  breathes  forth — 

"  Sae  sweet  his  voice,  sae  smooth  his  tongue ; 

His  breath  like  caller  air ; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in  't 
As  he  comes  up  the  stair." 

And  the  love  which  thus  colors  with  its  radiant  tints  the 
common  things  of  this  life,  which  makes  poverty  beautiful, 
and  the  cottage  richer  than  the  palace,  will  be  sure  to  teach 
the  heart  which  possesses  it  how  to  manage  the  husband.  ' 
In  "managing  a  man" — an  important  lesson,  which  some 
women  are  very  anxious  to  impress  upon  others — immense 
tact  and  delicacy  are  wanted,  but  are  very  seldom  found. 
Wives  should  remember  that  they  had  better,  very  much 
better,  never  try  to  manage,  than  try  and  not  succeed.  And 
yet  all  men  like  to  be  managed,  and  require  management. 
No  one  can  pretend  to  be  the  be-all  and  end-all  in  a  house. 
It  is  from  his  wife  that  the  husband  should  learn  the  true 
value  of  things — his  own  dignity,  his  position,  and  even  his 
secondary  position  by  her  side  as  manageress.  But,  if  she 
be  wise,  she  will  not  make  this  too  apparent.  Directly  the 
voice  gets  too  loud,  the  tone  too  commanding,  and  the  man- 
ner too  fussy,  the  unhappy  man  begins  to  suspect  that  he  is 


134  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

being  "  managed/'  and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  sinks  into 
utter  imbecility,  or  breaks  away  like  an  obstinate  pig.  Both 
these  symptoms  are  bad,  and  perhaps  the  first  is  the  worst. 
No  true  woman  can  love  and  reverence  a  man  who  is  morally 
and  intellectually  lower  than  herself,  and  who  has  driveled 
down  into  a  mere  assenting  puppet.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  pig-headed  husband  is  very  troublesome.  He  requires 
the  greatest  care;  for  whatever  his  wife  says  he  will  refuse 
to  do ;  nay,  although  it  may  be  the  very  essence  of  wisdom, 
he  will  refuse  it  because  he  knows  the  behest  proceeds  from 
his  wife.  He  is  like  a  jibbing  horse,  which  you  have  to  turn 
one  way  because  you  want  him  to  start  forward  on  the  other ; 
or  he  more  closely  resembles  the  celebrated  Irish  pig,  which 
was  so  obstinate  that  his  master  was  obliged  to  persuade  him 
that  he  was  being  driven  to  Dublin,  when  his  back  was  to- 
wards that  city,  and  he  was  going  to  Athlone ! 

One  part  of  management  in  husbands  lies  in  a  judicious 
mixture  of  good  humor,  attention,  flattery,  and  compliments. 
All  men,  as  well  as  women,  are  more  or  less  vain ;  the  rare 
exceptions  of  men  who  do  not  care  to  be  tickled  by  an  occa- 
sional well-turned  compliment  only  prove  the  rule.  But,  in 
the  case  of  a  husband,  we  must  remember  that  this  love  of 
being  occasionally  flattered  by  his  wife  is  absolutely  a  neces- 
sary and  natural  virtue.  No  one  needs  to  be  ashamed  of  it. 
We  are  glad  enough  to  own,  to  remember,  to  treasure  up 
every  little  word  of  approval  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the 
woman  we  courted.  Why  should  we  forget  the  dear  sounds 
now  she  is  our  wife?  If  we  love  her,  she  may  be  sure  that 
any  little  compliment — an  offered  flower,  a  birthday  gift,  a 
song  when  we  are  weary,  a  smile  when  we  are  sad,  a  look 
which  no  eye  but  our  own  will  see — will  be  treasured  up, 
and  will  cheer  us  when  she  is  not  there.  Judiciously  used, 
this  conduct  is  of  the  greatest  effect  in  managing  the  husband. 


WOMEN'S  HUSBANDS.  135 

A  little  vanity  does  not,  moreover,  in  such  cases  as  these, 
prove  a  man  to  be  either  a  bad  man  or  a  fool.  "All  clever 
men,"  says  a  great  observer,  "  are  more  or  less  affected  with 
vanity.  It  may  be  blatant  and  offensive,  it  may  be  excessive, 
but  not  unamusing,  or  it  may  show  itself  just  as  a  large 
soupcon,  but  it  is  never  entirely  absent."  The  same  writer 
goes  on  to  say  that  this  vanity  should  by  no  means  be  in- 
judiciously flattered  into  too  large  a  size.  A  wife  will  prob- 
ably admire  the  husband  for  what  he  is  really  worth;  and 
the  vanity  of  a  really  clever  man  probably  only  amounts  to 
putting  a  little  too  large  a  price  on  his  merits,  not  to  a  mis- 
take as  to  what  those  merits  are.  The  wife  and  husband 
will  therefore  think  alike;  but,  if  she  be  .wise,  she  will  only 
go  to  a  certain  point  in  administering  the  domestic  lumps 
of  sugar.  "A  clever  husband,"  says  the  writer  we  have 
quoted,  "  is  like  a  good  despot ;  all  the  better  for  a  little 
constitutional  opposition."  Or  the  same  advice  may  be 
thus  put,  as  it  often  is,  by  a  wise  and  cautious  mother-in- 
law  :  "  My  dear,"  she  would  say,  "  you  must  never  let  your 
husband  have  matters  all  his  own  way." 

A  woman  who  abdicates  all  her  authority,  who  is  not 
queen  over  her  kitchen,  her  chamber,  and  her  drawing-room 
or  best  parlor,  does  a  very  dangerous  and  foolish  thing,  and 
will  soon  dwarf  down  into  a  mere  assenting  dummy.  Now 
old  Burleigh,  the  wise  counselor  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  has, 
in  his  advice  to  his  son,  left  it  upon  record  that  "  thou  shalt 
find  there  is  nothing  so  irksome  in  life  as  a  female  fool." 
A  wife  who  is  the  mere  echo  of  her  husband's  opinions; 
who  waits  for  his  advice  upon  all  matters;  who  is  lazy,  in- 
dolent, and  silly  in  her  household ;  fussy,  troublesome,  and 
always  out  of  the  way  or  in  the  way  when  she  is  traveling; 
who  has  no  opinions  of  her  own,  no  temper  of  her  own ; 
who  boasts  that  "  she  bears  every  thing  like  a  lamb ;"  and 


136  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

who  bears  the  breakage  of  her  best  china  and  the  desecra- 
tion of  her  white  curtains  with  tobbaco-smoke  with  equal 
serenity;  such  a  woman  may  be  very  affectionate  and  very 
good,  but  she  is  somewhat  of  a  "  she-fool."  Her  husband 
will  too  often  first  begin  to  despise  and  then  to  neglect  her. 
She  will  follow  so  closely  on  the  heels  of  her  husband's 
ideas  and  her  husband's  opinions  that  she  will  annoy  him 
like  an  echo.  Her  genuine  love  will  be  construed  into 
something  like  cunning  flattery;  her  very  devotion  will  be 
mistaken;  her  sweet  nature  become  tiresome  and  irksome, 
from  want  of  variety;  and,  from  being  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  she  will  sink  into  the  mere  slave  of  the  husband. 
A  wife  should  therefore  learn  to  think,  to  walk  alone,  to 
bear  her  full  share  of  the  troubles  and  dignities  of  married 
life,  never  to  become  a  cipher  in  her  own  house,  but  to 
rise  to  the  level  of  her  husband,  and  to  take  her  full  share 
of  the  matrimonial  throne.  The  husband,  if  a  wise  man, 
will  never  act  without  consulting  his  wife;  nor  will  she  do 
any  thing  of  importance  without  the  aid  and  advice  of  her 
husband. 

There  is,  however — and  in  these  days  of  rapid  fortune- 
making  we  see  it  constantly — a  certain  class  of  men  who 
rise  in  the  world  without  the  slightest  improvement  in  their 
manners,  taste,  or  sense.  Such  men  are  shrewd  men  of  busi- 
ness, or  perhaps  have  been  borne  to  the  haven  of  fortune 
by  a  lucky  tide;  and  yet  these  very  men  possess  wives  who, 
although  they  are  of  a  lower  sphere,  rise  at  once  with  their 
position,  and  in  manner,  grace,  and  address  are  perfect 
ladies,  whilst  their  husbands  are  still  the  same  rude,  uncul- 
tivated boors.  These  wives  must  be  wise  enough  to  console 
themselves  for  their  trials;  for  indeed  such  things  are  a 
very  serious  trial  both  to  human  endurance  and  to  human 
vanity.  They  must  remember  that  they  married  when 


WOMEN'S  HUSBANDS.  137 

equals  with  their  husbands  in  their  lowliness,  and  that  their 
husbands  have  made  the  fortune  which  they  pour  at  their 
feet.  They  will  recollect  also  that  their  husbands  must 
have  industry,  and  a  great  many  other  sterling  good  quali- 
ties, if  they  lack  a  little  polish;  and,  lastly,  that  they  are  in 
reality  no  worse  off  than  many  other  women  in  high  life 
who  are  married  to  boors,  to  eccentric  persons,  or,  alas! 
too  often  to  those  who,  with  many  admirable  virtues,  may 
blot  them  all  by  the  indulgence  in  a  bosom  sin  or  an  heredi- 
tary vice. 

The  last  paragraph  will  lead  us  naturally  enough  to  the 
faults  of  husbands.  Now,  although  we  are  inclined  to  think 
that  these  are  greatly  exaggerated,  and  that  married  men 
are,  on  the  whole,  very  good — excellent  men  and  citizens, 
brave  men,  battling  with  the  world  and  its  difficulties,  and 
carrying  forward  the  cumbrous  machine  in  its  path  of  pro- 
gress and  civilization — although  we  think  that,  as  a  class, 
their  merits  are  actually  not  fully  appreciated,  and  that  the 
bachelors  (sly  fellows!)  get  very  much  the  best  of  it — still, 
we  must  admit  that  there  is  a  very  large  class  of  thoroughly 
bad  husbands,  and  that  this  class  may  be  divided  into  the 
foolish,  the  careless,  and  the  vicious  sub-classes,  each  of 
which  would  require  at  least  a  volume  to  be  devoted  to  their 
treatment  and  castigation.  Nay,  more  than  a  volume.  Arch- 
deacon Paley  notes  that  St.  John,  apologizing  for  the  brevity 
and  incompleteness  of  Gospel  directions,  states  that,  if  all 
the  necessary  books  were  written,  the  world  would  not  con- 
tain them.  So  we  may  say  of  the  faults  of  foolish  husbands ; 
we  will,  therefore,  say  no  more  about  them,  but  return  to 
the  part  which  the  wives  of  such  men  ought  to  play. 

In  the  first  place,  as  a  true  woman,  a  wife  will  be  as 
tender  of.  those  faults  as  she  can  be.  She  will  not  talk  to 
her  neighbors  about  them,  nor  magnify  them,  nor  dwell 


138  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

upon  them.  She,  alas !  will  never  be  without  her  share  of 
blame;  for  the  world,  rightly  or  wrongly,  often  dowers  the 
wife  with  the  faults  of  the  husband,  and,  seeing  no  possi- 
bility of  interfering  and  assigning  to  each  his  or  her  share, 
suspects  both.  Moreover,  in  many  cases  she  will  have  to 
blame  herself  chiefly.  We  take  it  that  the  great  majority 
of  women  marry  the  men  that  they  choose.  If  they  do  not 
do  so,  they  should  do  so.  They  may  have  been  unwise  and 
vain  enough  to  have  been  pleased  and  tickled  by  the  flat- 
tery of  a  fool.  When  they  have  married  him,  they  find 
him,  as  Dr.  Gregory  wrote  to  his  daughters,  "  the  most  in- 
tractable of  husbands;  led  by  his  passions  and  caprices,  and 
incapable  of  hearing  the  voice  of  reason."  A  woman's 
vanity  may  be  hurt  when  she  finds  that  she  has  a  husband 
for  whom  she  has  to  blush  and  tremble  every  time  he  opens 
his  lips.  She  may  be  annoyed  at  his  clownish  jealousy,  his 
mulish  obstinacy,  his  incapability  of  being  managed,  led,  or 
driven ;  but  she  must  reflect  that  there  was  a  time  when  a 
little  wisdom  and  reflection  on  her  own  part  would  have 
prevented  her  from  delivering  her  heart  and  her  person  to 
so  unworthy  a  creature. 

Women  who  have  wicked  husbands  are  much  more  to 
be  pitied.  In  early  life  the  wives  themselves  are  innocent ; 
and,  from  the  nature  of  things,  their  innocence  is  based  upon 
ignorance.  Here  the  value  of  the  almost  intuitive  wisdom 
and  perception  of  the  gentler  sex  comes  into  full  play. 
During  courtship,  when  this  perception  is  in  its  full  power 
and  vigor,  it  should  be  freely  exercised.  Scandal  and  com- 
mon report,  in  themselves  to  be  avoided,  are  useful  in  this. 

Women  should  choose  men  of  character  and  of  unspotted 
name.  It  is  a  very  old  and  true  remark — but  one  may  as 
well  repeat  what  is  old  and  trite  when  that  which  is  new 
would  be  but  feeble  repetition  at  the  best — that  a  good  son 


WOMEN'S  HUSBANDS.  139 

generally  makes  a  good  husband;  a  wise  companion  in  a 
walk  may  turn  out  a  judicious  companion  through  life.  The 
wild  attempt  to  reform  a  rake,  or  to  marry  a  man  of  a 
"  gav  "  life*  i°  the  hop6  that  he  will  sow  "  his  wild  oats,"  is 
always  dangerous,  and  should  never  be  attempted.  A 
woman  who  has  a  sense  of  religion  herself  should  never 
attach  herself  to  a  man  who  has  none.  The  choice  of  a  hus- 
band is  really  of  the  greatest  consequence  to  human  happi- 
ness, and  should  never  be  made  without  the  greatest  care 
and  circumspection.  No  sudden  caprice,  no  effect  of  co- 
quetry, no  sally  of  passion,  should  be  dignified  by  the  name 
of  love.  "  Marriage,"  says  the  apostle,  "  is  honorable  in 
all ;"  but  the  kind  of  marriage  which  is  so  is  that  which  is 
based  upon  genuine  love,  not  upon  fancy  or  caprice ;  which 
is  founded  on  the  inclination  of  nature,  on  honorable  views, 
cemented  by  a  similarity  of  tastes,  and  strengthened  by  the 
true  sympathy  of  souls. 

Love  is  the  tyranny 
So  blessed  to  endure! 
Who  mourns  the  loss  of  liberty, 
With  all  things  else  secure? 

Live  on,  sweet  tyranny! 
(Cries  heart  with'in  a  heart) 
God's  blossom  of  Eternity, 
How  beautiful  thou  art! 


XVII. 


WHAT    HE    SAYS    OF    RELIGIOUS   GRUMBLERS—  GOOD-NATURE    AND 

FIRMNESS—  PATIENCE—  OPPORTUNITIES—  FAULTS—  HOME—  MEN 

WHO  ARE  DOWN—  HOPE—  HINTS  AS  TO  THRIVING,  ETC. 


fOHN  Ploughman's  Talk,  says  the  author,  Rev.  C. 
H.  Spurgeon,  the  famous  London  preacher,  "has 
not  only  obtained  an  immense  circulation,  but  it 
has  exercised  an  influence  for  good."  As  to  the 
"  influence  for  good,"  the  reader  will  judge  when  he  has 
read  the  following  choice  bits  from  the  pages  of  that  unique 
book.  And  we  feel  sure  that  he  will  thank  us  for  including 
John  among  our  "Brave  Men  and  Women." 

RELIGIOUS   GRUMBLERS. 

When  a  man  has  a  particularly  empty  head,  he  generally 
sets  up  for  a  great  judge,  especially  in  religion.  None  so 
wise  as  the  man  who  knows  nothing.  His  ignorance  is  the 
mother  of  his  impudence  and  the  nurse  of  his  obstinacy ; 
and,  though  he  does  not  know  B  from  a  bull's  foot,  he 
settles  matters  as  if  all  wisdom  were  in  his  fingers'  ends — 
the  pope  himself  is  not  more  infallible.  Hear  him  talk 
after  he  has  been  at  meeting  and  heard  a  sermon,  and  you 
will  know  how  to  pull  a  good  man  to  pieces,  if  you  never 
knew  it  before.  He  sees  faults  where  there  are  none,  and, 
if  there  be  a  few  things  amiss,  he  makes  every  mouse  into 
an  elephant.  Although  you  might  put  all  his  wit  into  an 
egg-shell,  he  weighs  the  sermon  in  the  balances  of  his  con- 
ceit, with  all  the  airs  of  a  bred-and-born  Solomon,  and  if  it 
be  up  to  his  standard,  he  lays  on  his  praise  with  a  trowel ; 
140 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN.  141 

but,  if  it  be  not  to  his  taste,  he  growls  and  barks  and  snaps 
at  it  like  a  dog  at  a  hedgehog.  Wise  men  in  this  world 
are  like  trees  in  a  hedge,  there  is  only  here  and  there  one ; 
and  when  these  rare  men  talk  together  upon  a  discourse,  it 
is  good  for  the  ears  to  hear  them;  but  the  bragging  wise- 
acres I  am  speaking  of  are  vainly  puffed  up  by  their  fleshly 
minds,  and  their  quibbling  is  as  senseless  as  the  cackle  of 
geese  on  a  common.  Nothing  comes  out  of  a  sack  but  what 
\vas  in  it,  and,  as  their  bag  is  empty,  they  shake  nothing  but 
wind  out  of  it.  It  is  very  likely  that  neither  ministers  nor 
their  sermons  are  perfect — the  best  garden  may  have  a  few 
weeds  in  it,  the  cleanest  corn  may  have  some  chaff — but 
cavilers  cavil  at  any  thing  or  nothing,  and  find  fault  for  the 
sake  of  showing  off  their  deep  knowledge ;  sooner  than  let 
their  tongues  have  a  holiday,  they  would  complain  that  the 
grass  is  not  a  nice  shade  of  blue,  and  say  that  the  sky  would 
have  looked  neater  if  it  had  been  whitewashed. 

GOOD-NATURE  AND  FIRMNESS. 

Do  not  be  all  sugar,  or  the  world  will  suck  you  down ; 
but  do  not  be  all  vinegar,  or  the  world  will  spit  you  out. 
There  is  a  medium  in  all  things ;  only  blockheads  go  to  ex- 
tremes. We  need  not  be  all  rock  or  all  sand,  all  iron  or  all 
wax.  We  should  neither  fawn  upon  every  body  like  silly 
lap-dogs,  nor  fly  at  all  persons  like  surly  mastiffs.  Blacks 
and  whites  go  together  to  make  up  a  world,  and  hence,  on 
the  point  of  temper,  we  have  all  sorts  of  people  to  deal 
with.  Some  are  as  easy  as  an  old  shoe,  but  they  are  hardly 
ever  worth  more  than  the  other  one  of  the  pair ;  and  others 
take  fire  as  fast  as  tinder  at  the  smallest  offense,  and  are  as 
dangerous  as  gunpowder.  To  have  a  fellow  going  about 
the  farm  as  cross  with  every  body  as  a  bear  with  a  sore 
head,  with  a  temper  as  sour  as  verjuice  and  as  sharp  as  a 


142  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

razor,  looking  as  surly  as  a  butcher's  dog,  is  a  great  nui- 
sance ;  and  yet  there  may  be  some  good  points  about  the 
man,  so  that  he  may  be  a  man  for  all  that ;  but  poor,  soft 
Tommy,  as  green  as  grass  and  as  ready  to  bend  as  a  willow, 
is  nobody's  money  and  every  body's  scorn.  A  man  must 
have  a  backbone,  or  how  is  he  to  hold  his  head  up?  But 
that  backbone  must  bend,  or  he  will  knock  his  brow  against 
the  beam. 

There  is  a  time  to  do  as  others  wish,  and  a  time  to  re- 
fuse. We  may  make  ourselves  asses,  and  then  every  body 
will  ride  us;  but,  if  we  would  be  respected,  we  must  be  our 
own  masters,  and  not  let  others  saddle  us  as  they  think  fit 
If  we  try  to  please  every  body,  we  shall  be  like  a  toad  under 
a  harrow,  and  never  have  peace ;  and,  if  we  play  lackey  to 
all  our  neighbors,  whether  good  or  bad,  we  shall  be  thanked 
by  no  one,  for  we  shall  soon  do  as  much  harm  as  good. 
He  that  makes  himself  a  sheep  will  find  that  the  wolves 
are  not  all  dead.  He  who  lies  on  the  ground  must  expect 
to  be  trodden  on.  He  who  makes  himself  a  mouse,  the  cats 
will  eat  him.  If  you  let  your  neighbors  put  the  calf  on 
your  shoulders,  they  will  soon  clap  on  the  cow.  We  are  to 
please  our  neighbor  for  his  good  to  edification,  but  this  is 
quite  another  matter. 

FATIEHCE. 

Patience  is  better  than  wisdom ;  an  ounce  of  patience  is 
worth  a  pound  of  brains.  All  men  praise  patience,  but  few 
enough  can  practice  it;  it  is  a  medicine  which  is  good  for 
all  diseases,  and  therefore  every  old  woman  recommends  it; 
but  it  is  not  every  garden  that  grows  the  herbs  to  make  it 
with.  When  one's  flesh  and  bones  are  full  of  aches  and 
pains,  it  is  as  natural  for  us  to  murmur  as  for  a  horse  to 
shake  his  head  when  the  flies  tease  him,  or  a  wheel  to  rattle 
when  a  spoke  is  loose;  but  nature  should  not  be  the  rule 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN.  143 

with  Christians,  or  what  is  their  religion  worth  ?  If  a  sol- 
dier fights  no  better  than  a  plowboy,  off  with  his  red  coat. 
We  expect  more  fruit  from  an  apple-tree  than  from  a  thorn, 
and  we  have  a  right  to  do  so.  The  disciples  of  a  patient 
Savior  should  be  patient  themselves.  Grin  and  bear  it  is 
the  old-fashioned  advice,  but  sing  and  bear  it  is  a  great 
deal  better.  After  all,  we  get  very  few  cuts  of  the  whip, 
considering  what  bad  cattle  we  are ;  and  when  we  do 
smart  a  little,  it  is  soon  over.  Pain  past  is  pleasure,  and 
experience  comes  by  it.  We  ought  not  to  be  afraid  of  go- 
ing down  into  Egypt,  when  we  know  we  shall  come  out  of 
it  with  jewels  of  silver  and  gold. 

OH  SEIZING  OPPORTUNITIES. 

Some  men  never  are  awake  when  the  train  starts,  but 
crawl  into  the  station  just  in  time  to  see  that  every  body  is 
off,  and  then  sleepily  say,  "  Dear  me,  is  the  train  gone  ? 
My  watch  must  have  stopped  in  the  night!"  They  always 
come  into  town  a  day  after  the  fair,  and  open  their  wares 
an  hour  after  the  market  is  over.  They  make  their  hay 
when  the  sun  has  left  off  shining,  and  cut  their  corn  as 
soon  as  the  fine  weather  is  ended.  They  cry  "  Hold  hard ! " 
after  the  shot  has  left  the  gun,  and  lock  the  stable-door 
when  the  steed  is  stolen.  They  are  like  a  cow's  tail,  always 
behind ;  they  take  time  by  the  heels  and  not  by  the  fore- 
lock, if  indeed  they  ever  take  him  at  all.  They  are  no 
more  worth  than  an  old  almanac ;  their  time  has  gone  for 
being  of  use ;  but,  unfortunately,  you  can  not  throw  them 
away  as  you  would  the  almanac,  for  they  are  like  the  cross 
old  lady  who  had  an  annuity  left  to  her,  and  meant  to  take 
out  the  full  value  of  it — they  won't  die,  though  they  are  of 
no  use  alive.  Take-it-easy  and  Live-long  are  first  cousins, 
they  say,  and  the  more's  the  pity.  If  they  are  immortal 


144  BE  A  YE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

till  their  work  is  done,  they  will  not  die  in  a  hurry,  for 
they  have  not  even  begun  to  work  yet.  Shiftless  people 
generally  excuse  their  laziness  by  saying,  "  they  are  only  a 
little  behind;"  but  a  little  too  late  is  much  too  late,  and  a 
miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile.  My  neighbor  Sykes  covered  up 
his  well  after  his  child  was  drowned  in  it,  and  was  very 
busy  down  at  the  Old  Farm  bringing  up  buckets  of  water 
after  every  stick  of  the  house  had  been  burned;  one  of 
these  days,  he  '11  be  for  making  his  will  when  he  can 't  hold 
a  pen,  and  he'll  be  trying  to  repent  of  his  sins  when  his 
senses  are  going. 

FAULTS. 

He  who  boasts  of  being  perfect  is  perfect  in  folly.  I 
have  been  a  good  deal  up  and  down  in  the  world,  and  I 
never  did  see  either  a  perfect  horse  or  a  perfect  man,  and  I 
never  shall  till  two  Sundays  come  together.  You  can  not 
get  white  flour  out  of  a  coal  sack,  nor  perfection  out  of  hu- 
man nature ;  he  who  looks  for  it  had  better  look  for  sugar 
in  the  sea.  The  old  saying  is,  "  Lifeless,  faultless ;"  of  dead 
men  we  should  say  nothing  but  good ;  but  as  for  the  living, 
they  are  all  tarred  more  or  less  with  the  black  brush,  and 
half  an  eye  can  see  it.  Every  head  has  a  soft  place  in  it, 
and  every  heart  has  its  black  drop.  Every  rose  has  its 
prickles,  and  every  day  its  night.  Even  the  sun  shows 
spots,  and  the  skies  are  darkened  with  clouds.  Nobody  is 
so  wise  but  he  has  folly  enough  to  stock  a  stall  at  Vanity 
Fair.  Where  I  could  not  see  the  fool's  cap,  I  have  never- 
theless heard  the  bells  jingle.  As  there  is  no  sunshine 
without  some  shadows,  so  is  all  human  good  mixed  up  with 
more  or  less  of  evil ;  even  poor-law  guardians  have  their 
little  failings,  and  parish  beadles  are  not  wholly  of  heavenly 
nature.  The  best  wine  has  its  lees.  All  men's  faults  are 
not  written  on  their  foreheads,  and  it's  quite  as  well  they 


JOHN  PL  0  UGHMAN.  145 

are  not,  or  hats  would  need  very  wide  brims ;  yet  as  sure  as 
eggs  are  eggs,  faults  of  some  sort  nestle  in  every  bosom. 
There 's  no  telling  when  a  man's  sins  may  show  themselves, 
for  hares  pop  out  of  the  ditch  just  when  you  are  not  look- 
ing for  them.  A  horse  that  is  weak  in  the  legs  may  not 
stumble  for  a  mile  or  two,  but  it  is  in  him,  and  the  driver 
had  better  hold  him  up  well.  The  tabby  cat  is  not  lapping 
milk  just  now,  but  leave  the  dairy  door  open,  and  see  if  she 
is  not  as  bad  a  thief  as  the  kitten.  There's  fire  in  the  flint, 
cool  as  it  looks :  wait  till  the  steel  gets  a  knock  at  it,  and 
you  will  see.  Every  body  can  read  that  riddle,  but  it  is  not 
every  body  that  will  remember  to  keep  his  gunpowder  out 
of  the  way  of  the  candle. 

If  we  would  always  recollect  that  we  live  among  men 
who  are  imperfect,  we  should  not  be  in  such  a  fever  when 
we  find  out  our  friend's  failings;  what's  rotten  will  rend, 
and  cracked  pots  will  leak.  Blessed  is  he  who  expects 
nothing  of  poor  flesh  and  blood,  for  he  shall  never  be  dis- 
appointed. The  best  of  men  are  men  at  the  best,  and  the 
best  wax  will  melt. 

"  It  is  a  good  horse  that  never  stumbles, 
And  a  good  wife  that  never  grumbles." 

HOME. 

That  word  home  always  sounds  like  poetry  to  me.  It 
rings  like  a  peal  of  bells  at  a  wedding,  only  more  soft  and 
sweet,  and  it  chimes  deeper  into  the  ears  of  my  heart.  It 
does  not  matter  whether  it  means  thatched  cottage  or  manor- 
house,  home  is  home ;  be  it  ever  so  homely,  there  is  no  place 
on  earth  like  it.  Green  grows  the  house-leek  on  the  roof 
forever,  and  let  the  moss  flourish  on  the  thatch.  Sweetly 
the  sparrows  chirrup  and  the  swallows  twitter  around  the  cho- 
sen spot  which  is  my  joy  and  rest.  Every  bird  loves  its 

10 


146  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

own  nest ;  the  owls  think  the  old  ruins  the  fairest  spot  under 
the  moon,  and  the  fox  is  of  opinion  that  his  hole  in  the  hill 
is  remarkably  cozy.  When  my  master's  nag  knows  that 
his  head  is  toward  home  he  wants  no  whip,  but  thinks  it 
best  to  put  on  all  steam ;  and  I  am  always  of  the  same  mind, 
for  the  way  home,  to  me,  is  the  best  bit  of  road  in  the 
country.  I  like  to  see  the  smoke  out  of  my  own  chimney 
better  than  the  fire  on  another  man's  hearth ;  there  's  some- 
thing so  beautiful  in  the  way  in  which  it  curls  up  among 
the  trees.  Cold  potatoes  on  my  own  table  taste  better  than 
roast  meat  at  my  neighbor's,  and  the  honeysuckle  at  my  own 
door  is  the  sweetest  I  ever  smell.  When  you  are  out,  friends 
do  their  best,  but  still  it  is  not  home.  "  Make  yourself  at 
home,"  they  say,  because  every  body  knows  that  to  feel  at 
home  is  to  feel  at  ease. 

"  East  and  west, 
Home  is  best." 

Why,  at  home  you  are  at  home,  and  what  more  do  you 
want?  Nobody  grudges  you,  whatever  your  appetite  may 
be ;  and  you  do  n't  get  put  into  a  damp  bed. 

MEN  WHO  ARE  DOWN. 

No  man's  lot  is  fully  known  till  he  is  dead;  change  of 
fortune  is  the  lot  of  life.  He  who  rides  in  the  carriage  may 
yet  have  to  clean  it.  Sawyers  change  places,  and  he  who  is 
up  aloft  may  have  to  take  his  turn  in  the  pit.  In  less  than 
a  thousand  years  we  shall  all  be  bald  and  poor  too,  and  who 
knows  what  he  may  come  to  before  that  ?  The  thought  that 
we  may  ourselves  be  one  day  under  the  window,  should 
make  us  careful  when  we  are  throwing  out  our  dirty  water. 
With  what  measure  we  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to  us 
again,  and  therefore  let  us  look  well  to  our  dealings  with 
the  unfortunate. 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN.  147 

• 

Nothing  makes  me  more  sick  of  human  nature  than  to 
see  the  way  in  which  men  treat  others  when  they  fall  down 
the  ladder  of  fortune :  "  Down  with  him/'  they  cry,  "  he 
always  was  good  for  nothing." 

"  Down  among  the  dead  men,  down,  down,  down, 
Down  among  the  dead  men,  there  let  him  lie." 

Dog  won't  eat  dog,  but  men  will  eat  each  other  up  like 
cannibals,  and  boast  of  it  too.  There  are  thousands  in  this 
world  who  fly  like  vultures  to  feed  on  a  tradesman  or  a  mer- 
chant as  soon  as  ever  he  gets  into  trouble.  Where  the  carcass 
is  thither  will  the  eagles  be  gathered  together.  Instead  of 
a  little  help,  they  give  the  sinking  man  a  great  deal  of  cru- 
elty, and  cry,  "  Serves  him  right."  All  the  world  will  beat 
the  man  whom  fortune  buffets.  If  providence  smites  him, 
all  men's  whips  begin  to  crack.  The  dog  is  drowning,  and 
therefore  all  his  friends  empty  their  buckets  over  him.  The 
tree  has  fallen,  and  every  body  runs  for  his  hatchet.  The 
house  is  on  fire,  and  all  the  neighbors  warm  themselves.  The 
man  has  ill  luck,  therefore  his  friends  give  him  ill  usage ; 
he  has  tumbled  into  the  road,  and  they  drive  their  carts 
over  him ;  he  is  down,  and  selfishness  cries,  "  Let  him  be 
kept  down,  then  there  will  be  the  more  room  for  those  who 
are  up." 

How  aggravating  it  is  when  those  who  knocked  you 
down  kick  you  for  not  standing  up !  It  is  not  very  pleasant 
to  hear  that  you  have  been  a  great  fool,  that  there  were  fifty 
ways  at  least  of  keeping  out  of  your  difficulty,  only  you  had 
not  the  sense  to  see  them.  You  ought  not  to  have  lost  the 
game ;  even  Tom  Fool  can  see  where  you  made  a  bad  move. 
"  He  ought  to  have  locked  the  stable-door  /"  every  body  can  see 
that,  but  nobody  offers  to  buy  the  loser  a  new  nag.  "  What 
a  pity  he  went  so  far  on  the  ice  /"  That 's  very  true,  but  that 
won't  save  the  poor  fellow  from  drowning.  When  a  man's 


148  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

coat  is  threadbare,  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  pick  a  hole  in  it. 
Good  advice  is  poor  food  for  a  hungry  family. 

"  A  man  of  words  and  not  of  deeds 
Is  like  a  garden  full  of  weeds." 

Lend  me  a  bit  of  string  to  tie  up  the  traces,  and  find  fault 
with  my  old  harness  when  I  get  home.  Help  my  old  horse 
to  a  few  oats,  then  tell  him  to  mend  his  pace.  Feel  for  me 
and  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you,  but  mind  you,  feel  in 
your  pocket,  or  else  a  fig  for  your  feelings. 

HOPE. 

Eggs  are  eggs,  but  some  are  rotten ;  and  so  hopes  are 
hopes,  but  many  of  them  are  delusions.  Hopes  are  like  wo- 
men, there  is  a  touch  of  angel  about  them  all,  but  there  are 
two  sorts.  My  boy  Tom  has  been  blowing  a  lot  of  birds'- 
eggs,  and  threading  them  on  a  string;  I  have  been  doing 
the  same  thing  with  hopes,  and  here 's  a  few  of  them,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent. 

The  sanguine  man's  hope  pops  up  in  a  moment  like  Jack- 
in-the-box;  it  works  with  a  spring,  and  does  not  go  by  rea- 
son. Whenever  this  man  looks  out  of  the  window  he  sees 
better  times  coming,  and  although  it  is  nearly  all  in  his  own 
eye  and  nowhere  else,  yet  to  see  plum-puddings  in  the  moon 
is  a  far  more  cheerful  habit  than  croaking  at  every  thing 
like  a  two-legged  frog.  This  is  the  kind  of  brother  to  be 
on  the  road  with  on  a  pitch-dark  night,  when  it  pours  with 
rain,  for  he  carries  candles  in  his  eyes  and  a  fireside  in  his 
heart.  Beware  of  being  misled  by  him,  and  then  you  may 
safely  keep  his  company.  His  fault  is  that  he  counts  his 
chickens  before  they  are  hatched,  and  sells  his  herrings  be- 
fore they  are  in  the  net.  All  his  sparrows'-eggs  are  bound 
to  turn  into  thrushes,  at  the  least,  if  not  partridges  and 
pheasants.  Summer  has  fully  come,  for  he  has  seen  one  swal- 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN.  149 

low.  He  is  sure  to  make  his  fortune  at  his  new  shop,  for 
he  had  not  opened  the  door  five  minutes  before  two  of  the 
neighbors  crowded  in;  one  of  them  wanted  a  loaf  of  bread 
on  trust,  and  the  other  asked  change  for  a  shilling.  He  is 
certain  that  the  squire  means  to  give  him  his  custom,  for 
he  saw  him  reading  the  name  over  the  shop  door  as  he  rode 
past.  He  does  not  believe  in  slips  between  cups  and  lips, 
but  makes  certainties  out  of  perhapses.  Well,  good  soul, 
though  he  is  a  little  soft  at  times,  there  is  much  in  him  to 
praise,  and  I  like  to  think  of  one  of  his  odd  sayings,  "  Never 
say  die  till  you  are  dead,  and  then  it 's  no  use,  so  let  it 
alone."  There  are  other  odd  people  in  the  world,  you  see, 
besides  John  Ploughman. 

MY  FIRST  WIFE. 

My  experience  of  my  first  wife,  who  will,  I  hope,  live 
to  be  my  last,  is  much  as  follows:  matrimony  came  from 
Paradise  and  leads  to  it.  I  never  was  half  so  happy  before  I 
was  a  married  man  as  I  am  now.  When  you  are  married, 
your  bliss  begins.  I  have  no  doubt  that  where  there  is  much 
love  there  will  be  much  to  love,  and  where  love  is  scant 
faults  will  be  plentiful.  If  there  is  only  one  good  wife  in 
England,  I  am  the  man  who  put  the  ring  on  her  finger,  and 
long  may  she  wear  it.  God  bless  the  dear  soul,  if  she  can 
put  up  with  me,  she  shall  never  be  put  down  by  me. 

HINTS  AS  TO  THRIVING. 

Hard  work  is  the  grand  secret  of  success.  Nothing  but 
rags  and  poverty  can  come  of  idleness.  Elbow-grease  is  the 
only  stuff  to  make  gold  with.  No  sweat,  no  sweet.  He  who 
would  have  the  crow's  eggs  must  climb  the  tree.  Every 
man  must  build  up  his  own  fortune  nowadays.  Shirt-sleeves 
rolled  up  lead  on  to  best  broad  cloth ;  and  he  who  is  not 


150  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ashamed  of  the  apron  will  soon  be  able  to  do  without  it. 
"  Diligence  is  the  mother  of  good  luck/'  as  Poor  Richard 
says;  but  "idleness  is  the  devil's  bolster,"  John  Plough- 
man says. 

Make  as  few  changes  as  you  can ;  trees  often  transplanted 
bear  little  fruit.  If  you  have  difficulties  in  one  place,  you 
will  have  them  in  another ;  if  you  move  because  it  is  damp 
in  the  valley,  you  may  find  it  cold  on  the  hill.  Where  will 
the  ass  go  that  he  will  not  have  to  work  ?  Where  can  a 
cow  live  and  not  get  milked?  Where  will  you  find  land 
without  stones,  or  meat  without  bones?  Everywhere  on 
earth  men  must  eat  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  faces.  To 
fly  from  trouble  men  must  have  eagle's  wings.  Alteration 
is  not  always  improvement,  as  the  pigeon  said  when  she  got 
out  of  the  net  and  into  the  pie.  There  is  a  proper  time  for 
changing,  and  then  mind  you  bestir,  yourself,  for  a  sitting 
hen  gets  no  barley ;  but  do  not  be  forever  on  the  shift,  for 
a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.  Stick-to-it  is  the  conqueror. 
He  who  can  wait  long  enough  will  win.  This,  that,  and 
the  other,  any  thing  and  every  thing,  all  put  together, 
make  nothing  in  the  end ;  but  on  one  horse  a  man  rides 
home  in  due  season.  In  one  place  the  seed  grows,  in  one 
nest  the  bird  hatches  its  eggs,  in  one  oven  the  bread  bakes, 
in  one  river  the  fish  lives. 

Do  not  be  above  your  business.  He  who  turns  up  his 
nose  at  his  work  quarrels  with  his  bread  and  butter.  He 
is  a  poor  smith  who  is  afraid  of  his  own  sparks :  there  's 
some  discomfort  in  all  trades,  except  chimney-sweeping.  If 
sailors  gave  up  going  to  sea  because  of  the  wet,  if  bakers 
left  off  baking  because  it  is  hot  work,  if  ploughmen  would 
not  plough  because  of  the  cold,  and  tailors  would  not  make 
our  clothes  for  fear  of  pricking  their  fingi^rs^v^hat  a  pass 
we  should  come  to!  Nonsense,  my  fine  fello w, -there 's  no 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN.  151 

shame  about  any  honest  calling;  don't  be  afraid  of  soiling 
your  hands,  there  's  plenty  of  soap  to  be  had.  All  trades 
are  good  to  good  traders.  A  clever  man  can  make  money 
out  of  dirt.  Lucifer  matches  pay  well,  if  you  sell  enough 
of  them. 

You  can  not  get  honey  if  you  are  frightened  at  bees,  nor 
sow  corn  if  you  are  afraid  of  getting  mud  on  your  boots. 
Lackadaisical  gentlemen  had  better  emigrate  to  fool's-land, 
where  men  get  their  living  by  wearing  shiny  boots  and 
lavender  gloves.  When  bars  of  iron  melt  under  the  south 
wind,  when  you  can  dig  the  fields  with  toothpicks,  blow 
ships  along  with  fans,  manure  the  crops  with  lavender- 
water,  and  grow  plum-cakes  in  flower-pots,  then  will  be  a 
fine  time  for  dandies;  but  until  the  millennium  comes  we 
shall  all  have  a  deal  to  put  up  with,  and  had  better  bear 
our  present  burdens  than  run  helter-skelter  where  we  shall 
find  matters  a  deal  worse. 

Keep  your  weather  eye  open.  Sleeping  poultry  are 
carried  off  by  the  fox.  Who  watches  not,  ca£ches  not. 
Fools  ask  what 's  o'clock,  but  wise  men  know  their  time. 
Grind  while  the  wind  blows,  or  if  not  do  not  blame  Provi- 
dence. God  sends  every  bird  its  food,  but  he  does  not 
throw  it  into  the  nest :  he  gives  us  our  daily  bread,  but  it 
is  through  our  own  labor.  Take  time  by  the  forelock.  Be 
up  early  and  catch  the  worm.  The  morning  hour  carries 
gold  in  its  mouth.  He  who  drives  last  in  the  row  gets  all 
the  dust  in  his  eyes :  rise  early,  and  you  will  have  a  clear 
start  for  the  day. 

TRY. 

Can 't  do  it  sticks  in  the  mud,  but  Try  soon  drags  the 
wagon  out  of  the  rut.  The  fox  said  Try,  and  he  got  away 
from  the  hounds  when  they  almost  snapped  at  him.  The 
bees  said  Try,  and  turned  flowers  into  honey.  The  squirrel 


152  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

said  Try,  and  up  he  went  to  the  top  of  the  beech-tree.  The 
snow-drop  said  Try,  and  bloomed  in  the  cold  snows  of  Win- 
ter. The  sun  said  Try,  and  the  Spring  soon  threw  Jack 
Frost  out  of  the  saddle.  The  young  lark  said  Try,  and  he 
found  his  new  wings  took  him  over  hedges  and  ditches,  and 
up  where  his  father  was  singing.  The  ox  said  Try,  and 
ploughed  the  field  from  end  to  end.  No  hill  too  steep  for 
Try  to  climb,  no  clay  too  stiff  for  Try  to  plough,  no  field  too 
wet  for  Try  to  drain,  no  hole  too  big  for  Try  to  mend.  As 
to  a  little  trouble,  who  expects  to  find  cherries  without 
stones,  or  roses  without  thorns  !  Who  would  win  must  learn 
to  bear.  Idleness  lies  in  bed  sick  of  the  mulligrubs  where 
industry  finds  health  and  wealth.  The  dog  in  the  kennel 
barks  at  the  fleas ;  the  hunting  dog  does  not  even  know  they 
are  there.  Laziness  waits  till  the  river  is  dry,  and  never 
gets  to  market ;  "  Try "  swims  it,  and  makes  all  the  trade. 
Can  't  do  it  could  n't  eat  the  bread  and  butter  which  was  cut 
for  him,  but  Try  made  meat  out  of  mushrooms. 

If  you  want  to  do  good  in  the  world,  the  little  word 
"  Try  "  comes  in  again.  There  are  plenty  of  ways  of  serv- 
ing God,  and  some  that  will  fit  you  exactly  as  a  key  fits  a 
lock.  Do  n't  hold  back  because  you  can  not  preach  in  St. 
Paul's;  be  content  to  talk  to  one  or  two  in  a  cottage;  very 
good  wheat  grows  in  little  fields.  You  may  cook  in  small 
pots  as  well  as  big  ones.  Little  pigeons  can  carry  great 
messages.  Even  a  little  dog  can  bark  at  a  thief,  and  wake 
up  the  master  and  save  the  house.  A  spark  is  fire.  A 
sentence  of  truth  has  heaven  in  it.  Do  what  you  do  right 
thoroughly;  pray  over  it  heartily,  and  leave  the  result 
to  God. 

Alas !  advice  is  thrown  away  on  many,  like  good  seed  on 
a  bare  rock.  Teach  a  cow  for  seven  years,  but  she  will 
never  learn  to  sing  the  Old  Hundreth.  Of  some  it  seems 


JOHN  PL 0  UGHMA  N.  153 

true  that  when  they  were  born  Solomon  went  by  the  door, 
but  would  not  look  in.  Their  coat-of-arms  is  a  fool's  cap 
on  a  donkey's  head.  They  sleep  when  it  is  time  to  plough, 
and  weep  when  harvest  comes.  They  eat  all  the  parsnips 
for  supper,  and  wonder  they  have  none  left  for  breakfast. 

Once  let  every  man  say  Try, 
Very  few  on  straw  would  lie, 
Fewer  still  of  want  would  die ; 
Pans  would  all  have  fish  to  fry ; 
Pigs  would  fill  the  poor  man's  sty; 
Want  would  cease  and  need  would  fly ; 
Wives  and  children  cease  to  cry  ; 
Poor  rates  would  not  swell  so  high ; 
Things  would  n't  go  so  much  awry — 
You'd  be  glad,  and  so  would  I. 


XVIII. 


(BORN  1750— DIED  1848.) 
A  NOBLE,  SELF-SACRIFICING  WOMAN. 


[ARCH  16,  1750,  and  January  9,  1848.  These  are 
the  dates  that  span  the  ninety-eight  years  of  the 
life  of  a  woman  whose  deeds  were  great  in  the 
service  of  the  world,  but  of  whom  the  world  itself 
knows  all  too  little.  Of  the  interest  attaching  to  the  life  of 
such  a  woman,  whose  recollections  went  back  to  the  great 
earthquake  at  Lisbon ;  who  lived  through  the  American 
War,  the  old  French  Revolution,  the  rise  and  fall  of  Napo- 
leon ;  who  saw  the  development  of  the  great  factors  of  mod- 
ern civilization,  "from  the  lumbering  post  wagon  in  which 
she  made  her  first  journey  from  Hanover  to  the  railroads 
and  electric  telegraphs  which  have  intersected  all  Europe;" 
of  the  interest  which  such  a  life  possesses,  apart  from  that 
which  attaches  to  it  as  that  of  a  noble,  self-sacrificing  wo- 
man, who  was  content  to  serve  when  she  might  have  led  in 
a  great  cause,  but  few  will  be  insensible. 

Caroline  Herschel  was  born  on  the  16th  of  March 
1750,  and  was  the  eighth  child  of  ten  children.  Her  father, 
Isaac  Herschel,  traced  his  ancestry  back  to  the  early  part 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  when  three  brothers  Herschel 
left  Moravia  through  religions  differences,  they  being  Prot- 
estant. The  father,  Isaac,  was  passionately  fond  of  music, 
to  the  study  of  which,  as  a  youth/he  devoted  himself,  and, 
at  the  time  of  his  marriage  in  Hanover,  was  engaged  as 
hautboy  player  in  the  band  of  the  Guards.  When,  in  the 
154  * 


CAROLINE  LUCRETIA  HERSCHEL.  155 

course  of  time,  his  family  grew  up  around  him,  each  child 
received  an  education  at  the  garrison  school,  to  which  they 
were  sent  between  the  ages  of  two  and  fourteen ;  and  at 
home  the  father  strove  to  cultivate  the  musical  talents  of  his 
sons,  one  of  whom,  William,  soon  taught  his  teacher,  while 
another,  Jacob,  was  organist  of  the  garrison  church. 

Of  her  very  early  childhood  one  gets  the  impression  that 
Caroline  was  a  quiet,  modest  little  madden,  "  deeply  inter- 
ested in  all  the  family  concerns,"  content  to  be  eclipsed  by  her 
more  brilliant  and  less  patient  elder  sister,  and  overlooked 
'by  her  thoughtless  brothers,  toward  one  of  whom,  William, 
she  already  began  to  cherish  that  deep  affection  which  she 
mantained  throughout  their  lives.     The  lives  of  this  brother 
and  sister,  indeed,  in  this  respect,  recall  to  mind  those  of 
Charles  and  Mary  Lamb.     When  she  was  five  years  old  the 
family  life  was  disturbed  by  war,  which  took  away  tempo- 
rarily father  and  sons,  and  left  the  little  girl  at  home,  her 
mother's  sole  companion.     Her  recollections  of  this  time  are 
very  dismal,  and  may  be  read  at  length  in  the  memoir  by 
Mrs.  John  Herschel,  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  much  aid. 
When  she  was  seventeen  her  father  died,  and  the  polished 
education  which  he  had  hoped  to  give  her  was  supplanted 
by  the  rough  but  useful  knowledge  which  her  mother  chose 
to  inculcate  in  her — an  education  which  was  to  help  to  fit 
her  to  earn  her  bread,  and  to  be  of  great  assistance  to  her 
beloved  brother  William.     He  had  now  for  some  years  been 
living  at  Bath,  England,  from  which  he  wrote  in  1772,  pro- 
posing that  his  sister  should  join  him  there  to  assist  him  in 
his  musical  projects,  for  he  had  now  become  a  composer  and 
director.     In  August  of  this  year  she  accomplished  a  most 
adventurous  and  wearisome  journey  to  London,  encounter- 
ing storms  by  laud  and  sea,  and  on  the  28th  of  the  month 
found  herself  installed  in  her  brother's  lodgings  at  Bath. 


156  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

It  will  be  necessary  here  to  speak  a  little  more  at  length 
of  her  brother's  life  as  she  found  it  when  she  joined  him, 
as  thereafter  her  own  existence  was  practically  merged  in 
his,  and,  as  she  has  said  modestly  of  herself  and  her  service : 
"I  did  nothing  for  my  brother  but  what  a  well-trained 
puppy-dog  would  have  done ;  that  is  to  say,  I  did  what  he 
commanded  me.  I  was  a  mere  tool,  which  he  had  the  trou- 
ble of  sharpening."  Posterity  discredits  this  self-deprecia- 
tion, while  it  admires  it,  and  Miss  Herschel's  services  are  now 
esteemed  at  their  true  worth.  Her  brother  then,  when  she 
came  to  Bath,  had  established  himself  there  as  a  teacher  of 
music,  as  organist  of  the  Octagon  Chapel,  and,  as  we  have 
said  before,  was  a  composer  and  director  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary merit.  This  was  all  a  side  issue,  however.  It  was  but 
a  means  to  an  end.  His  music  was  the  goose  that  laid  the 
golden  egg,  which,  once  in  his  possession,  he  turned  over  to 
the  mistress  of  his  soul — Astronomy. 

Every  spare  moment  of  the  day,  we  are  told,  and  many 
hours  stolen  from  the  night,  had  long  been  devoted  to  the 
studies  which  were  compelling  him  to  become  himself  an  ob- 
server of  the  heavens.  He  had  worked  wonders  of  mechan- 
ical invention,  forced  thereto  by  necessity;  had  become  a 
member  of  a  philosophical  society,  and  his  name  was  begin- 
ning to  be  circulated  among  the  great,  rumors  of  his  work 
reaching  and  arresting  even  royal  attention. 

At  this  point  his  sister  arrived,  the  quiet  domestic  life 
she  had  been  living  in  Hanover  being  suddenly  changed  for 
one  of  "  ceaseless  and  inexhaustible  activity  "  in  her  brother's 
service,  being  at  once  his  astronomical  and  musical  assistant, 
and  his  housekeeper  and  guardian.  Of  the  latter,  his  erratic 
habits  made  him  in  great  need.  "  For  ten  years  she  per- 
severed at  Bath,"  says  her  biographer,  "  singing  when  she 
was  told  to  sing,  copying  when  she  was  told  to  copy,  '  lend- 


CAROLINE  LUCRETIA  HERSCHEL.  157 

ing  a  hand '  in  the  workshop,  and  taking  her  full  share  in  all 
the  stirring  and  exciting  changes  by  which  the  musician  be- 
came the  king's  astronomer  and  a  celebrity ;  but  she  never, 
by  a  single  word,  betrays  how  these  wonderful  events 
affected  her,  nor  indulges  in  the  slightest  approach  to  an 
original  sentiment,  comment,  or  reflection  not  strictly  con- 
nected with  the  present  fact."  In  an  ordinary  case  this  would 
not  be  remarkable,  but  in  the  present  instance  it  acquires 
considerable  significance  from  the  fact  that,  to  our  best 
knowledge,  Miss  Herschel's  was  a  temperament  which  would 
be  strongly  affected  by  the  life  she  was  leading,  and  her 
silence  as  to  personal  sentiment  shows  to  what  an  extent  she 
had  become  a  tool  in  her  brother's  hands — rejoicing  in  his 
successes,  and  sympathizing  in  his  sorrows,  but  never  re- 
vealing to  what  depth  of  self-sacrifice  she  may  have  been 
plunged  by  her  voluntary  surrender  and  devotion  to  her 
brother. 

As  we  understand  her,  Miss  Herschel  would  have  been 
eminently  fitted  to  fill  a  position  of  high  domestic  responsi- 
bility ;  and  no  woman  of  this  sort,  who  has  once  dreamed 
of  a  home  of  her  own,  with  its  ennobling  and  divine  re- 
sponsibilities, can,  without  a  pang,  give  up  so  sweet  a  vision 
for  a  life  of  sacrifice,  although  it  be  brilliant  with  the  cold 
splendors  of  science.  Her  life  with  her  brother,  as  has 
been  said,  was  one  of  ceaseless  activity  in  all  the  capacities 
in  which  she  served  him.  As  housekeeper,  she  occupied  a 
small  room  in  the  attic,  while  her  brother  occupied  the 
ground-floor,  furnished  in  new  and  handsome  style.  She 
received  a  sum  for  weekly  expenses,  of  which  she  must 
keep  a  careful  account,  and  all  the  marketing  fell  to  her. 
She  had  to  struggle  with  hot-tempered  servants,  and  with 
the  greatest  irregularity  and  disorder  in  the  household; 
while  her  imperfect  knowledge  of  English  (this  was  soon 


158  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

after  her  arrival  at  Bath)  added  a  new  pang  to  her  home- 
sickness and  low  spirits.  Later  on,  in  her  capacity  as  mu- 
sical assistant,  we  are  told  that  she  once  copied  the  scores 
of  the  "  Messiah  "  and  "Judas  Maccabseus  "  into  parts  for 
an  orchestra  of  nearly  one  hundred  performers,  and  the  vo- 
cal parts  of  "  Samson,"  besides  instructing  the  treble  singers, 
of  whom  she  was  now  herself  the  first.  As  astronomical 
assistant,  she  has  herself  given  a  glimpse  of  her  experience 
in  the  following  words :  "  In  my  brother's  absence  from 
home,  I  was,  of  course,  left  solely  to  amuse  myself  with  my 
own  thoughts,  which  were  any  thing  but  cheerful.  I  found 
I  was  to  be  trained  for  an  assistant  astronomer,  and,  by  way 
of  encouragement,  a  telescope  adapted  for  '  sweeping,'  con- 
sisting of  a  tube  with  two  glasses,  such  as  are  commonly 
used  in  a  *  finder/  was  given  me.  I  was  'to  sweep  for 
comets,'  and  I  see  by  my  journal  that  I  began  August  22,' 
1782,  to  write  down  and  describe  all  remarkable  appearances 
I  saw  in  my  '  sweeps,'  which  were  horizontal.  But  it  was  not 
till  the  last  two  months  of  the  same  year  that  I  felt  the  least 
encouragement  to  spend  the  star-light  nights  on  a  grass-plot 
covered  with  dew  or  hoar-frost,  without  a  human  being  near 
enough  to  be  within  call.  I  knew  too  little  of  the  real 
heavens  to  be  able  to  point  out  every  object  so  as  to  find  it 
again  without  losing  too  much  time  by  consulting  the  atlas." 
And,  in  another  place,  she  says :  "  I  had,  however,  the  com- 
fort to  see  that  my  brother  was  satisfied  with  my  endeavors 
to  assist  him,  when  he  wanted  another  person  either  to  run 
to  the  clocks,  write  down  a  memorandum,  fetch  and  carry 
instruments,  or  measure  the  ground  with  poles,  etc.,  of  which 
something  of  the  kind  every  moment  would  occur."  How 
successful  she  was  in  her  sky-sweeping  may  be  judged  from 
the  fact  that  she  herself  discovered  no  less  than  eight  differ- 
ent comets  at  various  times  during  her  apprenticeship.  Her 


CAROLINE  LUCRETIA  HERSCHEL.  159 

work  was  not  unattended  by  danger  and  accidents,  and  on 
one  occasion,  on  a  cold  and  cloudy  December  night,  when  a 
strip  of  clear  sky  revealed  some  stars  and  there  was  great 
haste  made  to  observe  them,  in  assisting  her  brother  with 
his  huge  telescope  she  ran  in  the  dark  on  ground  covered 
with  melting  snow  a  foot  deep,  tripped,  and  fell  on  a  large 
iron  hook  such  as  butchers  use,  and  which  was  attached  for 
some  purpose  to  the  machine.  It  entered  her  right  leg, 
above  the  knee,  and  when  her  brother  called, "  Make  haste," 
she  could  only  answer  by  a  pitiful  cry,  "  I  am  hooked." 
He  and  the  workmen  were  instantly  with  her ;  but  they  did 
not  free  her  from  the  torturing  position  without  leaving 
nearly  two  ounces  of  her  flesh  behind,  and  it  was  long  be- 
fore she  was  able  to  take  her  place  again  at  the  instrument. 

It  would  be  interesting,  if  it  were  but  practicable,  to 
give  a  brief  journal  of  her  life  during  the  fifty  years  she 
lived  in  England,  from  the  time  of  her  arrival  in  Bath, 
August  28,  1772,  till  the  time  of  her  brother's  death,  Au- 
gust 25,  1822,  after  which  she  returned  to  Hanover. 

We  have  given  enough,  perhaps,  to  suggest  the  mode 
and  the  activity  of  her  life;  but  of  her  brother's  marriage, 
and  the  trial  it  brought  upon  her  in  giving  up  the  supreme 
place  she  had  held  in  his  love  and  companionship  for  six- 
teen years ;  of  the  details  of  her  discoveries,  and  the  inter- 
esting correspondence  which  accompanied  them ;  of  her 
various  great  and  noble  friends,  and  her  relations  with 
them ;  of  the  death  of  her  brother,  then  Sir  "William  Her- 
schel,  and  the  terrible  blow  it  proved  to  her ;  of  her  return 
to  Holland,  to  the  home  of  another  brother ;  of  her  sorrow 
and  disappointment  at  the  changes  which  had  taken  place 
in  the  home  of  her  youth  during  the  long  years  which  had 
brought  her  to  old  age — she  was  then  seventy-two — and  to 
face  "the  blank  of  life  after  having  lived  within  the  radi- 


160  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ance  of  genius;"  of  the  comfort  she  derived  from  the  mem- 
bers of  her  brother's  family  whom  she  had  left  behind  in 
"  happy  England ;"  of  the  honors  which  the  chief  scientific 
men  in  the  kingdom  bestowed  upon  her — of  all  these  mat- 
ters we  can  do  no  more  than  to  simply  touch  upon  them  as 
above,  although,  if  we  might  refer  to  them  at  greater  length, 
it  would  be  but  to  increase  our  admiration  and  esteem  for  one 
of  the  strongest,  most  serviceable,  and  most  faithful  women 
that  ever  lived. 

She  died  at  eleven  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  9th  of 
January,  1848,  at  the  age  of  ninety-eight;  and  the  holy 
words  were  spoken  in  the  same  little  chapel  in  the  garrison 
in  which,  "nearly  a  century  before,  she  had  been  christened 
and  afterward  confirmed."  In  the  coffin  with  her  was 
placed,  at  her  request,  "a  lock  of  her  beloved  brother's 
hair,  and  an  old,  almost  obliterated  almanac  that  had  been 
used  by  her  father ;"  and  with  these  tokens  of  the  •  un- 
swerving love  and  fidelity  she  had  always  borne  to  parent 
and  brother,  she  was  laid  away  to  rest,  leaving  the  memory 
of  a  noble  woman,  great  in  wisdom,  and  greater  in  woman- 
liness, without  which,  in  woman,  wisdom  is  unhallowed. — 
S.  A.  CHAPIN,  JR.,  in  the  Christian  Union. 


XIX. 

PE8T1FER0U8 


THE  PRINTING-PRESS  THE  MIGHTIEST  AGENCY  ON  EARTH  FOR  GOOD 
AND  FOR  EVIL—  THE  FLOOD  OF  IMPURE  AND  LOATHSOME  LIT- 
ERATURE—WHAT CAN  WE  DO  TO  ABATE  THIS  PESTILENCE?— 
WHAT  BOOKS  AND  NEWSPAPERS  SHALL  WE  READ?—  HOW  PRO- 
TECT OUR  CHILDREN. 


E  is  a  brave  man,  who,  at  the  right  time  and  in 
the  right  place  and  manner,  lifts  his  voice  against 
a  great  evil  of  the  day.  Dr.  Talmage  has  re- 
cently done  this,  with  an  earnestness  like  that  of 
the  old  Hebrew  prophets.  His  timely  words  of  warning 
can  not  be  unfruitful : 

"Of  making  books  there   is  no    end."     True    in    the 
times  so  long   B.  C.,  how  much   more   true  in  the    times 
so  long  A.  D. !     We   see  so  many  books  we  do  not  un- 
derstand  what   a   book    is.     Stand    it   on   end.     Measure 
it,  the   height  of  it,  the   depth   of  it,    the   length    of   it, 
the   breadth   of   it.     You    can    not   do    it.      Examine    the 
paper,  and  estimate  the   progress   made   from  the   time  of 
the  impressions  on  clay,  and  then  on  the  bark  of  trees,  and 
from  the  bark  of  trees  to  papyrus,  and  from  papyrus  to 
the  hide  of  wild  beasts,  and  from  the  hide  of  wild  beasts  on 
down  until  the  miracles  of  our  modern  paper  manufactor- 
ies, and  then  see  the  paper,  white  and  pure  as  an  infant's 
soul,  waiting   for   God's   inscription.     A   book!      Examine 
the  type  of  it;  examine  the  printing,  and  see  the  progress 
from  the  time  when  Solon's  laws  were  written  on  oak  planks, 
and  Hesiod's  poems  were  written  on  tables  of  lead,  and  the 
Sinaitic  commands  were  written  on  tables  of  stone,  on  down 
to  Hoe's  perfecting  printing-press.     A  book!     It  took  all 

11  161 


162  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  universities  of  the  past,  all  the  martyr-fires,  all  the  civ- 
ilizations, all  the  battles,  all  the  victories,  all  the  defeats,  all 
the  glooms,  all  the  brightnesses,  all  the  centuries,  to  make 
it  possible.  A  book !  It  is  the  chorus  of  the  ages — it  is 
the  drawing-room  in  which  kings  and  queens,  and  orators, 
and  poets,  and  historians,  and  philosophers  come  out  to 
greet  you.  If  I  worshiped  any  thing  on  earth,  I  would 
worship  that.  If  I  burned  incense  to  any  idol,  I  would 
build  an  altar  to  that.  Thank  God  for  good  books,  helpful 
books,  inspiring  books,  Christian  books,  books  of  men,  books 
of  women,  books  of  God.  The  printing-press  is  the  might- 
iest agency  on  earth  for  good  and  for  evil.  The  minister  of 
the  Gospel  standing  in  a  pulpit  has  a  responsible  position, 
but  I  do  not  think  it  is  as  responsible  as  the  position  of  an 
editor  or  a  publisher.  Take  the  simple  statistics  that  our 
New  York  dailies  now  have  a  circulation  of  450,000  per 
day,  and  add  to  it  the  fact  that  three  of  our  weekly  period- 
icals have  an  aggregate  circulation  of  about  one  million,  and 
then  cipher,  if  you  can,  how  far  up  and  how  far  down  and 
how  far  out  reach  the  influences  of  the  American  printing- 
press.  I  believe  the  Lord  intends  the  printing-press  to  be 
the  chief  means  for  the  world's  rescue  and  evangelization, 
and  I  think  that  the  great  last  battle  of  the  world  will  not 
be  fought  with  swords  or  guns,  but  with  types  and  press — a 
purified  GospeHfterature  triumphing  over,  trampling  down, 
and  crushing  out  forever  that  which  is  depraved.  The  only 
way  to  right  a  bad  book  is  by  printing  a  good  one.  The 
only  way  to  overcome  unclean  newspaper  literature  is  by 
scattering  abroad  that  which  is  healthful.  May  God  speed 
the  cylinders  of  an  honest,  intelligent,  aggressive,  Christian 
printing-press. 

I  have  to  tell  you  this  morning  that  I  believe  that  the 
greatest  scourge  that  has  ever  come  upon  this  nation  has 


PESTIFEROUS  LITERATURE.  163 

been  that  of  unclean  journalism.     It  has  its  victims  in  all 
occupations  and  departments.     It  has  helped  to  fill  insane 
asylums  and  penitentiaries,  and  alms-houses  and   dens  of 
shame.     The  bodies  of  this  infection  lie  in  the  hospitals  and 
in  the  graves,  while  their  souls  are  being  tossed  over  into  a 
lost  eternity,  an  avalanche  of  horror  and  despair.     The  Lon- 
don plague  was  nothing  to  it.     That  counted  its  victims  by 
thousands;  but  this  modern  pest  has  already  shoveled  its 
millions  into  the  charnel-house  of  the  morally  dead.     The 
longest  rail  train  that  ever  ran  over  the  Erie  or  the  Hudson 
tracks  was  not  long  enough  or  large  enough  to  carry  the 
beastliness  and  the  putrefaction  which  have  gathered  up  in 
the  bad  books  and  newspapers  of  this  land  in  the  last  twenty 
years.     Now,  it  is  amid  such  circumstances  that  I  put  the 
questions   of  overmastering    importance  ,to   you   and   your 
families:    What  can  we  do  to  abate  this  pestilence?    What 
books  and  newspapers    shall  we  read?     You  see  I  group 
them    together.     A  newspaper  is  only  a  book  in  a  swifter 
and  more  portable  shape,  and  the  same  rules  which  apply  to 
book-reading  will  apply  to  newspaper-reading.     What  shall 
we  read  ?     Shall  our  minds  be  the  receptacle  of  every  thing 
that  an  author  has  a  mind  to  write?     Shall  there  be  no  dis- 
tinction between  the  tree  of  life  and  the  tree  of  death? 
Shall  we  stoop  down  and  drink  out  of  the  trough  which  the 
wickedness  of  men  has  filled  with  pollution   and   shame? 
Shall  we  mire  in  impurity,  and  chase  fantastic  will-o'-the- 
wisps  across  the  swamps,  when  we  might  walk  in  the  bloom- 
ing gardens  of  God?     O,  no.     For  the  sake  of  our  present 
and  everlasting  welfare,  we  must  make  an  intelligent  and 
Christian  choice. 

Standing,  as  we  do,  chin-deep  in  fictitious  literature,  the 
first  question  that  many  of  the  young  people  are  asking  me 
is,  "  Shall  we  read  novels  ?  "  I  reply,  there  are  novels  that 


164  SRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

are  pure,  good,  Christian,  elevating  to  the  heart,  and  enno- 
bling to  the  life.  But  I  have  still  further  to  say,  that  I  be- 
lieve three-fourths  of  the  novels  in  this  day  are  baneful  and 
destructive  to  the  last  degree.  A  pure  work  of  fiction  is 
history  and  poetry  combined.  It  is  a  history  of  things 
around  us,  with  the  licenses  and  the  assumed  names  of  poetry. 
The  world  can  never  repay  the  debt  which  it  owes  to  such 
fictitious  writers  as  Hawthorne,  Mackenzie,  and  Landor  and 
Hunt,  and  others  whose  names  are  familiar  to  all.  The 
follies  of  high  life  were  never  better  exposed  than  by  Miss 
Edgeworth.  The  memories  of  the  past  were  never  more 
faithfully  embalmed  than  in  the  writings  of  Walter  Scott. 
Cooper's  novels  are  healthfully  redolent  with  the  breath  of 
the  seaweed  and  the  air  of  the  American  forest.  Charles 
Kingsley  has  smitten  the  morbidness  of  the  world,  and  led  a 
great  many  to  appreciate  the  poetry  of  sound  health,  strong 
muscles,  and  fresh  air.  Thackeray  did  a  grand  work  in  car- 
icaturing the  pretenders  to  gentility  and  high  blood.  Dick- 
ens has  built  his  own  monument  in  his  books,  which  are  an 
everlasting  plea  for  the  poor  and  the  anathema  of  injustice. 
Now,  I  say  books  like  these,  read  at  right  times  and  read  in 
right  proportion  with  other  books,  can  not  help  but  be  enno- 
bling and^parifying.  But,  alas !  for  the  loathsome  and  im- 
pure literature  that  has  come  upon  this  country  in  the  shape 
of  novels  like  a  freshet  overflowing  all  the  banks  of  decency 
and  common  sense.  They  are  coming  from  some  of  the 
most  celebrated  publishing  houses  in  the  country.  They  are 
coming  with  the  recommendation  of  some  of  our  religious 
newspapers.  They  lie  on  your  center-table,  to  curse  your 
children  and  blast  with  their  infernal  fires  generations  un- 
born. You  find  these  books  in  the  desk  of  the  school-miss, 
in  the  trunk  of  the  young  man,  in  the  steamboat  cabin,  and 
on  the  table  of  the  hotel  reception-room.  You  see  a  light 


PESTIFEROUS  LITERATURE.  165 

in  your  child's  room  late  at  night.  You  suddenly  go  in  and 
say:  "What  are  you  doing?"  "I  am  reading."  "What 
are  you  reading  ?  "  "A  book."  You  look  at  the  book.  It 
is  a  bad  book.  "  Where  did  you  get  it ?  "  "I  borrowed 
it."  Alas !  there  are  always  those  abroad  who  would  like  to 
loan  your  son  or  daughter  a  bad  book.  Everywhere,  every- 
where an  unclean  literature.  I  charge  upon  it  the  destruc- 
tion of  ten  thousand  immortal  souls;  and  I  bid  you  this 
morning  to  wake  up  to  the  magnitude  of  the  theme.  I 
shall  take  all  the  world's  literature — good  novels  and  bad; 
travels,  true  or  false ;  histories,  faithful  and  incorrect ;  le- 
gends, beautiful  and  monstrous;  all  tracts,  all  chronicles,  all 
epilogues,  all  family,  city,  state,  national  libraries — and  pile 
them  up  in  a  pyramid  of  literature ;  and  then  I  shall  bring 
to  bear  upon  it  some  grand,  glorious,  infallible,  unmistakable 
Christian  principles.  God  help  me  to  speak  with  reference 
to  the  account  I  must  at  last  render!  God  help  you  to 
listen. 

I  charge  you,  in  the  first  place,  to  stand  aloof  from  all 
books  that  give  false  pictures  of  human  life.  Life  is  neither 
a  tragedy  nor  a  farce.  Men  are  not  all  either  knaves  or 
heroes.  Women  are  neither  angels  nor  furies.  And  yet  if 
you  depended  upon  much  of  the  literature  of  the  day,  you 
would  get  the  idea  that  life,  instead  of  being  something 
earnest,  something  practical,  is  a  fitful  and  fantastic  and  ex- 
travagant thing.  How  poorly  prepared  are  that  young  man 
and  woman  for  the  duties  of  to-day  who  spent  last  night 
wading  through  brilliant  passages  descriptive  of  magnificent 
knavery  and  wickedness!  The  man  will  be  looking  all  day 
long  for  his  heroine  in  the  tin-shop,  by  the  forge  or  in  the 
factory,  in  the  counting-room,  and  he  will  not  find  her,  and 
he  will  be  dissatisfied.  A  man  who  gives  himself  up  to  the 
indiscriminate  reading  of  novels  will  be  nerveless,  instne,  and 


166  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

a  nuisance.  He  will  be  fit  neither  for  the  store,  nor  the 
shop,  nor  the  field.  A  woman  who  gives  herself  up  to  the 
indiscriminate  reading  of  novels  will  be  unfitted  for  the 
duties  of  wife,  mother,  sister,  daughter.  There  she  is,  hair 
disheveled,  countenance  vacant,  cheeks  pale,  hands  trem- 
bling, bursting  into  tears  at  midnight  over  the  woes  of  some 
unfortunate.  In  the  day-time,  when  she  ought  to  be  busy, 
staring  by  the  half-hour  at  nothing;  biting  her  finger-nails 
to  the  quick.  The  carpet  that  was  plain  before  will  be 
plainer  after  having  through  a  romance  all  night  long  wan- 
dered in  tessellated  halls  of  castles,  and  your  industrious 
companion  will  be  more  unattractive  than  ever  now  that  you 
have  walked  in  the  romance  through  parks  with  plumed 
princesses  or  lounged  in  the  arbor  with  the  polished  des- 
perado. O,  these  confirmed  novel-readers!  They  are  unfit 
for  this  life,  which  is  a  tremendous  discipline.  They  know 
not  how  to  go  through  the  furnaces  of  trial  where  they  must 
pass,  and  they  are  unfitted  for  a  world  where  every  thing 
we  gain  we  achieve  by  hard,  long  continuing,  and  exhaus- 
tive work. 

Again^abstain  from  all  those  books  which,  while  they 
have  some  good  things  about  them,  have  also  an  admixture 
of  evil.  You  have  read  books  that  had  the  two  elements 
in  them — the  good  and  the  bad.  Which  stuck  to  you? 
The  bad!  The  heart  of  most  people  is  like  a  sieve,  which 
lets  'the  small  particles  of  gold  fall  through,  but  keeps  the 
great  cinders. 

Again,  abstain  from  those  books  which  are  apologetic  of 
crime.  It  is  a  sad  thing  that  some  of  the  best  and  most 
beautiful  bookbindery,  and  some  of  the  finest  rhetoric,  have 
been  brought  to  make  sin  attractive.  Vice  is  a  horrible 
thing,  anyhow.  It  is  born  in  shame,  and  it  dies  howling 
in  the  darkness.  In  this  world  it  is  scourged  with  a  whip 


PESTIFEROUS  LITERATURE.  167 

of  scorpions,  but  afterward  the  thunders  of  God's  wrath 
pursue  it  across  a  boundless  desert,  beating  it  with  ruin  and 
woe.  When  you  come  to  paint  carnality,  do  not  paint  it  as 
looking  from  behind  embroidered  curtains,  or  through  lattice 
of  royal  seraglio,  but  as  writhing  in  the  agonies  of  a  city 
hospital.  Cursed  be  the  books  that  try  to  make  impurity 
decent,  and  crime  attractive,  and  hypocrisy  noble !  Cursed 
be  the  books  that  swarm  with  libertines  and  desperadoes, 
who  make  the  brain  of  the  young  people  whirl  with  villainy. 
Ye  authors  who  write  them,  ye  publishers  who  print  them, 
ye  book-sellers  who  distribute  them,  shall  be  cut  to  pieces; 
if  not  by  an  aroused  community,  then  at  last  by  a  divine 
vengeance,  which  shall  sweep  to  the  lowest  pit  of  perdition 
all  ye  murderers  of  souls.  I  tell  you,  though  you  may 
escape  in  this  world,  you  will  be  ground  at  last  under  the 
hoof  of  eternal  calamities,  and  you  will  be  chained  to  the 
rock,  and  you  will  have  the  vultures  of  despair  clawing  at 
your  soul,  and  those  whom  you  have  destroyed  will  come 
around  to  torment  you  and  to  pour  hotter  coals  of  fury  upon 
your  head  and  rejoice  eternally  in  the  outcry  of  your  pain 
and  the  howl  of  your  damnation  !  "  God  shall  wound  the 
hairy  scalp  of  him  that  goeth  on  in  his  trespasses/*'  The 
clock  strikes  midnight,  a  fair  form  bends  over  a  romance. 
The  eyes  flash  fire.  The  breath  is  quick  and  irregular. 
Occasionally  the  color  dashes  to  the  cheek,  and  then  dies 
out.  The  hands  tremble  as  though  a  guardian  spirit  were 
trying  to  shake  the  deadly  book  out  of  the  grasp.  Hot 
tears  fall.  She  laughs  with  a  shrill  voice  that  drops  dead  at 
its  own  sound.  The  sweat  on  her  brow  is  the  spray  dashed 
up  from  the  river  of  Death.  The  clock  strikes  four,  and 
the  rosy  dawn  soon  after  begins  to  look  through  the  lattice 
upon  the  pale  form,  that  looks  like  a  detained  specter  of 
the  night.  Soon  in  a  mad-house,  she  will  mistake  her  ring- 


168  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

lets  for  curling  serpents,  and  thrust  her  white  hand  through 
the  bars  of  the  prison  and  smite  her  head,  rubbing  it  back 
as  though  to  push  the  scalp  from  the  skull,  shrieking,  "  My 
brain  !  my  brain  !"  O,  stand  off  from  that.  Why  will  you 
go  sounding  your  way  amidst  the  reefs  and  warning  buoys, 
when  there  is  such  a  vast  ocean  in  which  you  may  voyage, 
all  sail  set? 

There  is  one  other  thing  I  shall  say  this  morning  before 
I  leave  you,  whether  you  want  to  hear  it  or  not;  that  is, 
that  I  consider  the  bad  pictorial  literature  of  the  day  as 
most  tremendous  for  ruin.  There  is  no  one  who  can  like 
good  pictures  better  than  I  do.  But  what  shall  I  say  to 
the  prostitution  of  this  art  to  purposes  of  iniquity?  These 
death-warrants  of  the  soul  are  at  every  street  corner.  They 
smite  the  vision  of  the  young  with  pollution.  Many  a 
young  man  buying  a  copy  has  bought  his  eternal  discom- 
fiture. There  may  be  enough  poison  in  one  bad  picture  to 
poison  one  soul,  and  that  soul  may  poison  ten,  and  the  ten 
fifty,  and  the  hundreds  thousands,  until  nothing  but  the 
measuring  line  of  eternity  can  tell  the  height  and  depth  and 
ghastline^sjynd  horror  of  the  great  undoing.  The  work  of 
death  that  the  wicked  author  does  in  a  whole  book  the 
bad  engraver  may  do  on  half  a  side  of  pictorial.  Under 
the  disguise  of  pure  mirth  the  young  man  buys  one  of  these 
sheets.  He  unrolls  it  before  his  comrades  amid  roars  of 
laughter ;  but  long  after  the  paper  is  gone  the  results  may 
perhaps  be  seen  in  the  blasted  imaginations  of  those  who 
saw  it.  The  Queen  of  Death  every  night  holds  a  banquet, 
and  these  periodicals  are  the  printed  invitations  to  her 
guests.  Alas !  that  the  fair  brow  of  American  art  should  be 
blotched  with  this  plague  spot,  and  that  philanthropists, 
bothering  themselves  about  smaller  evils,  should  lift  up  no 
united  and  vehement  voice  against  this  great  calamity ! 


PESTIFEROUS  LITERA TURE.  169 

Young  man,  buy  not  this  moral  strychnine  for  your  soul! 
Pick  not  up  this  nest  of  coiled  adders  for  your  pocket! 
Patronize  no  news-stand  that  keeps  them !  Have  your  room 
bright  with  good  engravings,  but  for  these  iniquitous  pic- 
torials have  not  one  wall,  not  one  bureau,  not  one  pocket. 
A  man  is  no  better  than  the  picture  he  loves  to  look  at. 
If  your  eyes  are  not  pure,  you  heart  can  not  be.  One  can 
guess  the  character  of  a  man  by  the  kind  of  pictorial  he 
purchases.  When  the  devil  fails  to  get  a  man  to  read  a  bad 
book,  he  sometimes  succeeds  in  getting  him  to  look  at  a 
bad  picture.  When  Satan  goes  a-fishing  he  does  not  care 
whether  it  is  a  long  line  or  a  short  line,  if  he  only  draws 
his  .victim  in. 

If  I  have  this  morning  successfully  laid  down  any  prin- 
ciples by  which  you  may  judge  in  regard  to  books  and  news- 
papers, then  I  have  done  something  of  which  I  shall  not  be 
ashamed  on  the  day  which  shall  try  every  man's  work,  of 
what  sort  it  is.  Cherish  good  books  and  newspapers.  Be- 
ware of  the  bad  ones.  One  column  may  save  your  soul ; 
one  paragraph  may  ruin  it.  Go  home  to-day  and  look 
through  your  library,  and  then  look  on  the  stand  where  you 
keep  your  pictorials  and  newspapers,  and  apply  the  Chris'- 
tian  principles  I  have  laid  down  this  morning.  If  there  is 
any  thing  in  your  home  that  can  not  stand  the  test  do  not 
give  it  away,  for  it  might  spoil  an  immortal  soul;  do  not 
sell  it,  for  the  money  you  get  would  be  the  price  of 
blood;  but  rather  kindle  a  fire  on  your  kitchen  hearth,  or 
in  your  back  yard,  and  then  drop  the  poison  in  it,  and  keep 
stirring  the  blaze  until,  from  preface  to  appendix,  there  shall 
not  be  a  single  paragraph  left. 

Once  in  a  while  there  is  a  mind  like  a  loadstone,  which, 
plunged  amidst  steel  and  brass  filings,  gathers  up  the  steel 
and  repels  the  brass.  But  it  is  generally  just  the  opposite. 


170  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

If  you  attempt  to  plunge  through  a  hedge  of  burs  to  get 
one  blackberry,  you  get  more  burs  than  blackberries.  You 
can  not  afford  to  read  a  bad  book,  however  good  you  are. 
You  say :  "  The  influence  is  insignificant."  I  tell  you  that 
the  scratch  of  a  pin  has  sometimes  produced  the  lock-jaw. 
Alas,  if  through  curiosity,  as  many  do,  you  pry  into  an  evil 
book,  your  curiosity  is  as  dangerous  as  that  of  the  man  who 
would  stick  a  torch  into  a  gunpowder  mill,  merely  to  see 
whether  it  would  blow  up  or  not.  In  a  menagerie  in  New 
York  a  man  put  his  hand  through  the  bars  of  a  black 
leopard's  cage.  The  animal's  hide  looked  so  slick  and  bright 
and  beautiful.  He  just  stroked  it  once.  The  monster  seized 
him,  and  he  drew  forth  a  hand,  torn,  and  mangled,  and 
bleeding.  O,  touch  not  evil,  even  with  the  faintest  stroke; 
though  it  may  be  glossy  and  beautiful,  touch  it  not,  lest 
you  pull  forth  your  soul  torn  and  bleeding  under  the  clutch 
of  the  black  leopard.  "But,"  you  say,  "how  can  I  find 
out  whether  a  book  is  good  or  bad,  without  reading  it?" 
There  is  always  something  suspicious  about  a  bad  book.  I 
never  Imej^  an  exception.  Something  suspicious  in  the  in- 
dex or  the  style  of  illustration.  This  venomous  reptile  almost 
always  carries  a  warning  rattle. 

Again,  I  charge  you  to  stand  off  from  all  those  books 
which  corrupt  the  imagination  and  inflame  the  passions.  I 
do  not  refer  now  to  that  kind  of  a  book  which  the  villain 
has  under  his  coat,  waiting  for  the  school  to  be  out,  and 
then  looking  both  ways  to  see  that  there  is  no  policeman 
around  the  block,  offers  the  book  to  your  son  on  his  way 
home.  I  do  not  speak  of  that  kind  of  literature,  but  that 
which  evades  the  law  and  comes  out  in  polished  style,  and 
with  acute  plot  sounds  the  tocsin  that  rouses  up  all  the  baser 
passions  of  the  soul.  Years  ago  a  French  lady  came  forth 
as  an  authoress,  under  the  assumed  name  of  George  Sand. 


PESTIFEROUS  LITERATURE.  171 

She  smoked  cigars.  She  wore  gentlemen's  apparel.  She 
stepped  off  the  bounds  of  decency.  She  wrote  with  a  style 
ardent,  eloquent,  mighty  in  its  gloom,  horrible  in  its  unchas- 
tity,  glowing  in  its  verbiage,  vivid  in  its  portraiture,  damn- 
ing in  its  effects,  transfusing  into  the  libraries  and  homes 
of  the  world  an  evil  that  has  not  even  begun  to  relent,  and 
she  has  her  copyists  in  all  lands.  To-day,  under  the  nos- 
trils of  your  city,  there  is  a  fetid,  reeking,  unwashed  litera- 
ture enough  to  poison  all  the  fountains  of  public  virtue  and 
smite  your  sons  and  daughters  as  with  the  wing  of  a  de- 
stroying angel,  and  it  is  time  that  the  ministers  of  the  Gos- 
pel blew  the  trumpet  and  rallied  the  forces  of  righteousness, 
all  armed  to  the  teeth,  in  this  great  battle  against  a  depraved 
literature.  Why  are  fifty  per  cent  of  the  criminals  in  the 
jails  and  penitentiaries  of  the  United  States  to-day  under 
twenty-one  years  of  age?  Many  of  them  under  seventeen, 
under  sixteen,  under  fifteen,  under  fourteen,  under  thirteen. 
Walk  along  one  of  the  corridors  of  the  Tombs  Prison  in 
New  York  and  look  for  yourselves.  Bad  books,  bad  news- 
papers bewitched  them  as  soon  as  they  got  out  of  the  cradle. 
"O,"  says  some  one,  "I  am  a  business  man,  and  I  have 
no  time  to  examine  what  my  children  read.  I  have  no  time 
to  inspect  the  books  that  come  into  my  household."  If 
your  children  were  threatened  with  typhoid  fever  would  you 
have  time  to  go  for  the  doctor?  Would  you  have  time  to 
watch  the  progress  of  the  disease?  Would  you  have  time 
for  the  funeral?  In  the  presence  of  my  God,  I  warn  you 
of  the  fact  that  your  children  are  threatened  with  moral  and 
spiritual  typhoid,  and  that  unless  this  thing  be  stopped,  it 
will  be  to  them  funeral  of  body,  funeral  of  mind,  funeral  of 
soul,  three  funerals  in  one  day. 

Against  every    bad    pamphlet    send    a   good    pamphlet; 
against  every  unclean  picture  send  an  innocent  picture;  against 


172  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

every  scurrilous  song  send  a  Christian  song;  against  every 
bad  book  send  a  good  book.  The  good  literature,  the  Chris- 
tian literature,  in  its  championship  for  God  and  the  truth, 
will  bring  down  the  evil  literature  in  its  championship  for 
the  devil.  I  feel  tingling  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers,  and 
through  all  the  nerves  of  my  body,  and  all  the  depths  of  my 
soul,  the  certainty  of  our  triumph.  Cheer  up !  O  men  and 
women  who  are  toiling  for  the  purification  of  society.  Toil 
with  your  faces  in  the  sunlight.  If  God  be  for  us,  who  can 
be  against  us? 

Ye  workers  in  the  light, 
There  is  a  grand  to-morrow, 
After  the  long  and  gloomy  night, 
After  the  pain  and  sorrow 


O 


The  purposes  of  God 
Do  not  forever  linger; 
With  peace  and  consolation  shod, 
Do  ye  not  see  the  finger 

Which  points  the  way  of  life 
To  all  down  in  the  valley  ? 
Then  gird  ye,  gird  ye  for  the  strife ; 
Against  the  darkness  rally. 

The  victory  is  yours, 
And  ye  are  God's  forever  ; 
For  all  things  He  for  you  secures 

Through  brave  and  right  endeavor. 


By  and  by  another  aleep, 
Angels  watoh  and  ward  to  keep 
I     By  and  ty  from  wakeful  eyes 


XX. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


BLEEPING,  waking,  on  we  glide, 
)    Dreamful,  and  unsatisfied, 

*  In  the  heart  a  vague  surprise, 
Master  of  the  thoughtful  eyes. 

What  though  Spring  is  in  the  air, 
And  the  world  is  bright  and  fair? 

Something  hidden  from  the  sight 
Dashes  fullness  of  delight. 

Soothed  are  we  in  duty  done, 
And  in  something  new  begun, 

Like  a  kissed  and  flattered  child 
To  denial  reconciled; 

Yet  the  something  unattained 
Keeps  us  like  Prometheus  chained, 

And  our  hearts  intenser  grow 
As  the  vultures  come  and  go. 

Sleeping,  waking,  on  we  glide, 
Dreamful  and  unsatisfied, 

Pilgrims  on  a  foreign  shore, 
Wanting  something  evermore, 

All  the  shadow  in  our  eyes, 

All  the  substance  in  the  skies. 

173 


174  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

By  aud  by  another  sleep, 
Angels  watch  and  ward  to  keep. 

By  and  by,  from  wakeful  eyes, 
Nothing  of  the  old  surprise, 

All  pure  dreams  of  earth  fulfilled, 
Every  sense  with  gladness  thrilled. 

Then  are  we,  no  more  denied, 
With  Tliy  likeness  satisfied. 


Sacrifice!  therein 
I  find  no  superstition  of  the  past, 
But  one  of  Truth's  great  words,  all  life  within, 
C    ^  As  into  chaos  cast. 

God,  God  put  it  there, 
A  trumpet-note  to  every  living  soul, 
A  prophecy  of  all  that  is  most  fair 
Through  darkness  to  the  goal. 

I  can  not  efface 

The  record  of  this  wonder-working  Word, 
Nor  in  my  memory  but  faintly  trace 
Stern  voices  I  have  heard. 

Voices  come  by  day 

Between  life's  lightning-flash  and  thunder-peal, 
And  sooner  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away 
Than  what  they  there  reveal. 

Voices  come  at  night 
Amid  the  silence  of  deluding  cares, 
And  pain  flows  through  the  darkness  and  grows  bright, 
And  knowledge  unawares. 


SACRIFICE.  175 

Voices  fill  the  strife 

To  which  I  give  the  beauty  of  my  days, 
And  testify  that  sacrifice  is  life, 

Availing  prayer  and  praise. 

Life  retained  is  lost, 
The  tocsin  of  interminable  war; 
And  life  relinquished  is  of  life  the  cost, 
Which  shineth  as  a  star. 

Tongue  can  never  tell 
God's  revelations  in  this  mighty  Word, 
Nor  how  the  mystery  of  life  they  spell, 

With  which  all  hearts  are  stirred. 

I  continue  mute, 
In  joyful  awe  before  the  Infinite, 
Until  at  length  eternity  transmute 
My  darkness  into  light. 

I  can  only  speak 

An  earth-born  language,  that  does  not  reveal 
The  infinitude  of  duty  which  I  seek 

To  utter  and  but  feel. 

Duty !  heart  of  joy ! 

Which  giveth  strength  to  suffer  and  endure, 
Till  self-forgetfulness  in  God's  employ 
Enthrones  a  life  secure. 

Shepherd  of  the  sheep, 
To  whom  God  gives  the  universal  charge, 
I  think  of  Thy  devotion  and  I  weep, 
Thy  love  appears  so  large ! 

And  I  think  of  all 

The  grief  which  strengthened  Thy  exalting  hand, 
Until  great  tears  of  Easter  gladness  fall, 
To  think  in  Thee  I  stand, 


176  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Out  of  whose  great  heart 
So  glorious  is  death's  sacrificial  knife — 
To  think  I  know  Thee  now  somewhat,  who  art 
The  way,  the  truth,  the  life ; 

Who  art  with  Thine  own, 

Where  Thou  hast  been  through  immemorial  years, 
In  every  touch  of  consolation  known, 
In  every  flood  of  tears. 


3V  Vlay  o^   tye   liopd, 

I  cast  my  lot  with  the  surging  world, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 

A  pebble  hither  and  thither  hurled, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

I  sought  where  the  foot  of  man  was  unknown, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 

In  the  desert  alone,  alone,  alone, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

I  bowed  my  heart  to  the  voice  of  the  sea, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord; 

To  the  sob  of  unuttered  mystery, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

I  went  down  into  the  depths  of  my  soul, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 

Down  where  the  years  of  eternity  roll, 
To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

Ah,  me!  I  had  no  interpreter 
To  tell  me  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 

For  Nature,  it  was  not  in  her 
To  tell  me  the  way  of  the  Lord. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  LORD.  177 

I  heard  of  One  who  came  out  from  God 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 
I  entered  the  path  which  here  He  trod 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

I  walked  the  way  of  humility 

To  find  out  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 
It  turned  to  the  way  of  sublimity, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

From  grief  and  loss  came  joy  and  gain, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 
And  the  dead  came  back  to  life  again, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

Yea,  into  the  heaven  of  heavens  He  went, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 
And  the  Comforter  from  the  Father  He  sent, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord. 

I  learned  how  for  me  He  lived  and  died, 

To  show  me  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 
And  bearing  the  cross,  which  He  glorified, 
I  found  out  the  way  of  the  Lord. 


Via  Grucis. 

Cross  uplifted,  clouds  are  rifted, 
Vision  clearer,  God  grown  dearer! 
Via  crucis  via  lucis.* 

Cross,  thy  way  is  where  the  day  is ; 
Thy  surprises  sweet  sunrises ! 
Via  crucis  via  lucis. 

*The  way  of  the  cross  the  way  of  light. 
12 


178  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Life  eternal,  fair  and  vernal, 
Is  the  glory  of  the  story, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

Dawns  in  beauty,  born  of  duty, 

Joins  thereafter  Heaven's  sweet  laughter- 

Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

Finds  probation  tribulation, 
Onward  presses  and  confesses, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

Bursts  the  fetter  of  the  letter, 
Reckons  sorrow  joy  to-morrow — 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

To  the  Master  in  disaster 
Bravely  clinging,  journeys  singing, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

Ranges  crown  ward,  never  downward, 
Always  loving,  always  proving, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

Drinks  forever  from  the  river 
Everlasting,  still  forecasting, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis; 

And  presages  all  the  ages, 
Light-enfolden,  growing  golden, 
Via  crucis  via  lucis. 

O  the  shinings  and  refinings ! 
O  the  sweetness  of  completeness ! 
Via  crucis  via  lucis  I 


XXI. 
HER0E8  0p  861ENGE. 

MICHAEL  FARADAY— SIR  WILLIAM  SIEMENS— M.  PASTEUR. 


HE  loftiest  class  of  scientists  pursue  science  be- 
cause they  love  truth.  They  derive  no  animation 
from  the  thought  of  any  practical  application 
which  they  can  make  from  their  scientific  discov- 
eries. They  have  no  dreams  of  patents  and  subsequent 
royalties,  although  these  sometimes  come.  They  enter  upon 
their  work,  smit  with  a  passion  for  truth.  If  to  any  one  of 
them  it  should  happen  to  be  pointed  out — as  Sir  Humphrey 
Davy  showed  the  ardent  young  Michael  Faraday — at  the 
beginning  of  his  career,  that  science  is  a  hard  mistress  who 
pays  badly,  they  are  so  in  love  with  science  that,  really  and 
truly,  they  prefer  from  their  very  hearts  to  live  with  her  on 
bread  and  water  in  a  garret  to  living  without  her  in  palaces 
in  which  they  might  fare  sumptuously  every  day. 

There  are  others  by  whom  science  is  regarded  only  in 
the  measure  of  its  fruitfulness  in  producing  material  wealth. 
Their  great  men  are  not  the  discoverers  of  principles,  but 
the  inventors,  the  men  who  can  apply  the  discoveries  of 
others  to  supplying  such  wants  as  men  are  willing  to  pay 
largely  to  have  satisfied.  As  has  been  said — 

"  To  some  she  is  the  goddess  great ; 

To  some  the  milch-cow  of  the  field ; 
Their  business  is  to  calculate 
The  butter  she  will  yield." 

Our  highest  admiration  must  be  for  the  discoverers ;  but 
we  may  do  well  to  remind  ourselves,  from  time  to  time,  that 

179 


180  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

to  such  men  we  are  indebted  not  only  for  thrilling  insight 
into  the  beautiful  mysteries  of  nature,  and  for  the  with- 
drawal of  the  veil  which  shuts  out  from  ordinary  sight  the 
august  magnificences  of  nature,  but  also  for  the  discovery  of 
those  principles  which  can  be  turned  to  the  best  practical 
account,  ministering  to  us  in  our  kitchens  and  bed-chambers 
and  drawing-rooms  and  factories  and  shops  and  fields,  filling 
our  nights  with  brilliancy  and  our  days  with  potencies,  giv- 
ing to  each  man  the  capability  of  accomplishing  in  one  year 
what  his  ancestors,  who  lived  in  unscientific  ages,  could  not 
have  achieved  in  twenty ;  not  only  exhibiting  the  forces  of 
nature  as  steeds,  but  also  showing  how  they  may  be  har- 
nessed to  the  chariots  of  civilization. 

To  keep  us  in  healthful  gratitude  to  the  men  who,  hav- 
ing turned  away  from  the  marts  of  the  money-makers,  have 
unselfishly  set  themselves  to  discover  what  will  enrich  the 
money-makers,  and,  content  to  live  in  simple  sorts  of  ways, 
have  sent  down  beauty  and  comfort  into  the  homes  of  rich 
and  poor,  it  is  well  to  make  an  occasional  resumd  of  the  re- 
sults of  the  work  of  useful  scientists,  and  ponder  the  lessons 
of  their  single-mindedness. 

FARADAY. 

Few  names  on  the  roll  of  the  worthies  of  science  are 
better  known  through  all  the  world  than  that  of  Michael 
Faraday,  who  was  born  in  England  in  1791  and  died  in 
1867.  Rising  from  poverty,  he  became  assistant  to  Sir 
Humphrey  Davy,  in  the  Royal  Institution,  London,  where 
he  soon  exhibited  great  ability  as  an  experimenter,  and  a 
rare  genius  for  discovering  the  secret  relation  of  distant 
phenomena  to  one  another,  which  gave  him  his  skill  as  a 
discoverer,  so  that  he  came  to  be  regarded,  according  to 
Professor  Tyndall,  "  the  prince  of  the  physical  investigators 


HEROES  OF  SCIENCE.  181 

of  the  present  age,"  "  the  greatest  experimental  philosopher 
the  world  has  ever  seen." 

His  greatest  discoveries  may  be  stated  to  have  been  mag- 
neto-electric induction,  electro-chemical  decomposition,  the 
magnetization  of  light,  and  diamagnetism,  the  last  announced 
in  his  memoir  as  the  "magnetic  condition  of  all  matter." 
There  were  many  minor  discoveries.  The  results  of  his  la- 
bors are  apparent  in  every  field  of  science  which  has  been 
cultivated  since  his  day.  Indeed,  they  made  a  great  en- 
largement of  that  field.  His  life  of  simple  independence 
was  a  great  contribution  to  the  highest  wealth  of  the  world. 
He  might  have  been  rich.  He  lived  in  simplicity  and  died 
poor.  It  is  calculated  that,  if  he  had  made  commercial 
uses  of  his  earlier  discoveries,  he  might  easily  have  gathered 
a  fortune  of  a  million  of  dollars.  He  preferred  to  use  his 
extraordinary  endowments  for  the  promotion  of  science, 
from  which  he  would  not  be  turned  away  by  honors  or 
money,  declining  the  presidency  of  the  Royal  Institution, 
which  was  urged  upon  him,  preferring  to  "remain  plain 
Michael  Faraday  to. the  last,"  that  he  might  make  mankind 
his  legatees. 

While  Faraday  does  not  claim  the  parentage  of  the 
electric  telegraph,  he  was  among  the  earliest  laborers  in  the 
practical  application  of  his  own  discoveries,  without  which 
the  telegraph  would  probably  never  have  had  existence.  It 
was  on  his  advice  that  Mr.  Cyrus  W.  Field  determined  to 
push  the  enterprise  of  the  submarine  cable.  His  labors 
were  essential  to  the  success  of  the  efforts  of  his  friend 
Wheatstone  in  telegraphy.  It  was  his  genius  which  discov- 
ered the  method  of  preventing  the  incrustation  by  ice  of  the 
windows  of  light-houses,  and  also  a  method  for  the  preven- 
tion of  the  fouling  of  air  in  brilliantly  lighted  rooms,  by 
which  health  was  impaired  and  furniture  injured.  He  dis- 


182  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

covered  a  light,  volatile  oil,  which  he  called  "  bicarburet  of 
hydrogen."  It  is  now  known  to  us  as  benzine,  which  is  so 
largely  employed  in  the  industrial  arts.  Treated  by  nitric 
acid,  that  has  produced  a  substance  largely  used  by  the  per- 
fumer and  the  confectioner.  From  that  came  the  wonderful 
base  aniline,  which  was  not  only  useful  in  the  study  of 
chemistry,  as  throwing  light  on  the  internal  structure  of  or- 
ganic compounds,  but  has  come  also  into  commerce,  creat- 
ing a  great  branch  of  industry,  by  giving  strong  and  high 
colors  which  can  be  fixed  on  cotten,  woolen,  and  silken  fab- 
rics. It  may  be  worth  while  to  notice  what  gratifying 
beauty  was  provided  for  the  eye,  while  profitable  work  was 
afforded  to  the  industrious. 

It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that,  whatever  we  have  of 
magneto-electric  light,  in  all  its  various  applications,  is  due 
to  Faraday's  discoveries. 

Faraday's  distinguished  successor,  Professor  Tyndall,  in 
his  admirable  and  generous  tribute  to  his  famous  predeces- 
sor, says:  "As  far  as  electricity  has  been  applied  for  medical 
purposes,  it  is  almost  exclusively  Faraday's."  How  much 
of  addition  to  human  comfort  that  one  sentence  includes,  who 
can  estimate?  And  who  can  calculate  the  money-value  to 
commerce  in  the  production  of  instruments  used  in  the  ap- 
plication of  electricity  to  medicine?  Professor  Tyndall 
continues:  "You  have  noticed  those  lines  of  wire  which 
cross  the  streets  of  London.  It  is  Faraday's  currents  that 
speed  from  place  to  place  through  these  wires.  Ap- 
proaching the  point  of  Dungeness,  the  mariner  sees  an  un- 
usually brilliant  light,  and  from  the  noble  Pharos  of  La 
Heve  the  same  light  flashes  across  the  sea.  These  are  Fara- 
day's sparks,  exalted  by  suitable  machinery  to  sunlight 
splendor.  At  the  present  moment  (1868),  the  Board  of 
Trade  and  the  Brethren  of  the  Trinity  House,  as  well  as 


HEROES  OF  SCIENCE.  183 

the  Commissioners  of  Northern  Lights,  are  contemplating 
the  introduction  of  the  magneto-electric  light  at  numerous 
points  upon  our  coast ;  and  future  generations  will  be  able  to 
point  to  those  guiding  stars  in  answer  to  the  question,  what 
has  been  the  practical  use  of  the  labors  of  Faraday?" 

SIEMENS. 

One  of  the  most  useful  of  modern  men  was  Sir  William 
Siemens,  who  was  born  in  1823  and  died  in  1883.  The  year 
before  his  death  he  was  president  of  the  British  Association, 
and  was  introduced  by  his  predecessor,  Sir  J.  Lubbock,  with 
the  statement  that  "  the  leading  idea  of  Dr.  Siemens's  life  had 
been  to  economize  and  utilize  the  force  of  Nature  for  the 
benefit  of  man."  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  give  a  sketch  of 
his  life,  or  a  catalogue  of  his  many  inventions,  all  of  which 
were  useful.  It  was  his  comprehensive  and  accurate  study  of 
the  universe  which  led  him  to  discover,  as  he  thought,  that  it 
is  a  vast  regenerative  gas  furnace.  The  theory  has  been  that 
the  sun  is  cooling  down ;  but  Dr.  Siemens  saw  that  the  water, 
vapor,  and  carbon  compounds  of  the  interstellar  spaces  are 
returned  to  the  sun,  and  that  the  action  of  the  sun  on  these 
literally  converted  the  universe  into  a  regenerative  furnace. 
On  a  small  scale,  in  a  way  adapted  to  ordinary  human  uses, 
and  by  ingenious  contrivances,  he  produced  a  regenerative  gas 
furnace  which  so  utilized  what  had  hitherto  been  wasted  that, 
in  the  last  lecture  delivered  by  Michael  Faraday  (1862)  be- 
fore the  Royal  Society,  he  praised  the  qualities  of  the  furnace 
for  its  economy  and  ease  of  management;  and  it  soon  came 
into  general  use.  It  is  probably  impossible  to  calculate  the 
amount  of  saving  to  the  world  due  to  his  practical  application 
of  the  theory  of  the  conservation  of  force  to  the  pursuits  of 
industry.  It  has  changed  the  processes  for  the  production  of 
steel  so  as  to  make  it  much  cheape/,  and  so  revolutionized 


184  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ship-building.  The  carrying  power  of  steel  ships  is  so  much 
greater  than  that  of  iron  ships  that  the  former  earn  twenty- 
five  per  centum  more  than  the  latter.  So  great  a  gain  is  this, 
that  one-fourth  the  total  tonnage  of  British  ship-building 
in  1883  consisted  of  steel  vessels. 

Sir  William  Siemens 's  name  is  popularly  associated  with 
electric  light.  Perhaps  it  can  not  be  claimed  that  he  was  the 
sole  inventor  of  it,  since  Faraday  had  discovered  the  principle, 
and  at  the  meeting  of  the  Royal  Society,  in  1867,  at  which 
Siemens's  paper  was  read,  the  same  application  of  the  principle 
was  announced  in  a  paper  which  had  been  prepared  by  Sir 
Charles  Wheatstone,  and  a  patent  had  been  sought  by  Mr. 
Cromwell  Varley,  whose  application  involved  the  same  idea. 
But  it  is  believed  that  Sir  William  did  more  than  any  other 
man  to  make  the  discovery  of  wide  and  great  practical  benefit. 
His  dynamo  machine  is  capable  of  transforming  into  electri- 
cal energy  ninety  per  cent  of  the  mechanical  energy  employed. 
His  inventions  for  the  application  of  electricity  to  industry 
are  too  numerous  to  mention.  He  has  made  it  a  hewer  of 
wood  and  a  drawer  of  water  and  a  general  farm-hand,  and 
has  shown  how  it  can  be  applied  to  the  raising  and  ripening 
of  fruits.  He  has  shown  us  how  gas  can  be  made  so  that  its 
"  by-products  "  shall  pay  for  its  production,  and  demonstrated 
that  a  pound  of  gas  yields,  in  burning,  22,000  units,  being 
double  that  produced  by  the  combustion  of  a  pound  of  com- 
mon coal.  He  has  put  the  world  in  the  way  of  making  gas 
cheap  and  brilliant.  His  sudden  death  prevented  the  com- 
pletion of  plans  by  which  London  will  save  three-fourths  of 
its  coal  bill  by  getting  rid  of  its  hideous  fog.  His  suggestions 
will,  undoubtedly,  be  carried  out.  He  was  also  the  inventor 
of  the  "  chronometric  governor,"  an  apparatus  which  regulates 
the  movements  of  the  great  transit  instruments  at  Greenwich. 

These  are  some  of  the  practical  benefits  bestowed  upon 


HEROES  OF  SCIENCE.  185 

mankind  by  Sir  William  Siemens.  He  did  much,  by  stimu- 
lating men,  to  make  science  practically  useful,  and  has  left 
suggestions  which,  if  followed  out  with  energy  and  wisdom, 
will  add  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  the  world.  He  calculated 
that  "  all  the  coal  raised  throughout  the  world  would  barely 
suffice  to  produce  the  amount  of  power  that  runs  to  waste  at 
Niagara  alone,"  and  said  that  it  would  not  be  difficult  to 
realize  a  large  proportion  of  this  wasted  power  by  turbines, 
and  to  use  it  at  greater  distances  by  means  of  dynamo-electri- 
cal machines.  Myriads  of  future  inhabitants  of  America  are 
probably  to  reap  untold  wealth  and  comfort  from  what  was 
said  and  done  by  Sir  William  Siemens. 

PASTEUR. 

M.  Pasteur,  now  a  member  of  the  French  Academy,  after 
years  of  scientific  training  and  study  and  teaching,  began  a 
career  of  public  usefulness  which  has  been  a  source  of  in- 
calculable pecuniary  profit  to  his  country  and  to  the  world. 

He  began  to  study  the  nature  of  fermentation ;  and  the 
result  of  this  study  made  quite  a  revolution  in  the  manu- 
facture of  wine  and  beer.  He  discovered  a  process  which 
took  its  name  from  him;  and  now  "pasteurization"  is  prac- 
ticed on  a  large  scale  in  the  German  breweries,  to  the  great 
improvement  of  fermented  beverages. 

This  attracted  the  attention  of  the  French  Government. 
At  that  time  an  unknown  disease  was  destroying  the  silk- 
worm of  France  and  Italy.  It  was  so  wide-spread  as  to 
threaten  to  destroy  the  silk  manufacture  in  those  countries. 
M.  Pasteur  was  asked  to  investigate  the  cause.  At  that  time 
he  had  scarcely  ever  seen  a  silk- worm ;  but  he  turned  his 
acute  and  practical  intellect  to  the  study  of  this  little  worker, 
and  soon  detected  the  trouble.  He  showed  that  it  was  due 
to  a  microscopic  parasite,  which  was  developed  from  a  germ 


186  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

born  with  the  worm ;  and  he  pointed  out  how  to  secure 
healthy  eggs,  and  so  rear  healthy  worms.  He  thus  gave  his 
countrymen  the  knowledge  necessary  to  the  saving  of  the 
French  silk  industry,  and  to  a  very  large  increase  of  the 
value  of  the  annual  productiveness  of  the  country. 

Of  course,  a  man  who  had  gone  thus  far  could  not  stop. 
If  he  could  save  the  silk-worm,  he  might  save  larger  ani- 
mals. France  \vas  losing  sheep  and  oxen  at  the  rate  of 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  millions  annually.  The  services  of 
M.  Pasteur  were  again  in  demand.  Again  he  discovered 
that  the  devastator  was  a  microscopic  destroyer.  It  was 
anthrax.  The  result  of  his  experimenting  was  the  discov- 
ery of  an  antidote,  a  method  of  prevention  by  inoculation 
with  attenuated  microbes.  Similar  studies  and  experiments 
and  discoveries  enabled  him  to  furnish  relief  to  the  hog,  at 
a  time  when  the  hog-cholera  was  making  devastations.  As 
he  had  discovered  a  preventive  remedy  for  anthrax,  he  also 
found  a  remedy  for  chicken-cholera,  to  the  saving  of  poultry 
to  an  incalculable  extent. 

Having  thus  contributed  more  to  the  material  wealth  of 
his  country  than  any  other  living  Frenchman,  M.  Pasteur 
naturally  turned  his  discovery  of  the  parasitic  origin  of  dis- 
ease toward  human  sufferers.  A  man  of  convictions  and 
of  faith,  he  has  had  the  courage  to  ask  the  French  minister 
of  commerce  to  organize  a  scientific  commission  to  go  to 
Egypt  to  study  the  cholera  there  under  his  guidance. 

M.  Paul  Best,  who  was  M.  Pasteur's  early  rival  in 
scientific  discussion,  paid  a  generous  tribute  to  his  great 
ability  and  services,  and  declared  that  the  discovery  of  the 
prevention  of  anthrax  was  the  grandest  and  most  fruitful 
of  all  French  discoveries.  M.  Pasteur's  native  town,  Dole, 
on  the  day  of  the  national  fete  last  year  (1883),  placed  a 
commemorative  tablet  on  the  house  in  which  he  was  born. 


HEROES  OF  SCIENCE.  187 

The  government's  grant  of  a  pension  of  $5,000  a  year,  to 
be  continued  to  his  widow  and  children,  was  made  on  the 
knowledge  that  if  M.  Pasteur  had  retained  proprietary  right  in 
his  discovery,  he  might  have  amassed  a  vast  fortune;  but  he 
had  freely  given  all  to  the  public.  According  to  an  estimate 
made  by  Professor  Huxley,  the  labors  of  M.  Pasteur  are 
equal  in  money  value  alone  to  the  one  thousand  millions  of 
dollars  of  indemnity  paid  by  France  to  Germany  in  the  late 
war.  It  is  also  to  be  remembered  that  M.  Pasteur's  labors 
imparted  stimulus  to  discovery  in  many  directions,  setting 
many  discoverers  at  work,  who  are  now  experimenting  on 
the  working  hypothesis  of  the  parasitic  origin  of  all  other 
infectious  diseases. 

Now  here  are  three  men,  to  whom  the  world  is  probably 
more  indebted  than  to  any  other  twenty  men  who  have 
lived  this  century ;  indebted  for  health,  wealth,  comfort,  and 
enjoyment;  indebted  in  kitchen,  chamber,  drawing-room, 
counting-house ;  at  home  and  abroad,  by  day  and  by  night, 
for  gratification  of  the  bodily  and  aesthetic  taste.  They 
were  the  almoners  of  science.  Practical  men  would  have 
no  tools  to  work  with  if  they  did  not  receive  them  from 
those  who,  in  abstraction,  wrought  in  the  secluded  heights 
of  scientific  investigation.  It  is  base  to  be  ungrateful  to 
the  studious  recluses  who  are  the  devotees  of  science. 

These  three  men  were  Christians — simple,  honest,  devout 
Christians.  Faraday  was  a  most  "just  and  faithful  knight 
of  God,"  as  Professor  Tyndall  says.  Sir  William  Siemens, 
it  is  said,  was  a  useful  elder  in  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
and  M.  Pasteur,  still  living,  is  a  reverent  Roman  Catholic. 
Surely,  when  we  find  these  men  walking  a  lofty  height  of 
science,  higher  than  that  occupied  by  any  of  their  contem- 
poraries, and  when  we  find  these  men  sending  down  more 


188  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

enriching  gifts  to  the  lowly  sons  of  toil,  and  all  the  traders 
in  the  market  places,  and  all  seekers  of  pleasure  in  the 
world,  than  any  other  scientific  men,  we  must  be  safe  in  the 
conclusion  that  to  be  an  earnest  Christian  is  not  incompati- 
ble with  the  highest  attainments  in  science;  and  we  can  not 
find  fault  with  those  who  look  with  contempt  upon  the  men 
who  disdain  Christianity,  as  if  it  were  beneath  them,  when 
it  is  remembered  that  among  the  rejecters  of  our  holy  faith 
are  no  men  to  whom  we  have  a  right  to  be  grateful  for  any 
discovery  that  has  added  a  dollar  to  the  world's  exchequer, 
or  a  "  ray  to  the  brightness  of  the  world's  civilization." — DR. 
DEEMS,  in  the  New  York  Independent. 


XXII. 


ONE  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL  CREATIONS  OF   A  GREAT  GENIUS. 


F  I  were  requested,"  says  Leigh  Hunt  in  his 
"  Essay  on  Wit  and  Humor,"  "  to  name  the  book 
of  all  others  which  combines  wit  and  humor 
under  their  highest  appearance  of  levity  with  the 
profoundest  wisdom,  it  would  be  'Tristram  Shandy/"  the 
chief  work  of  Laurence  Sterne,  who  was  born  in  1713,  and 
died  in  1768.  The  following  story  of  LeFevre,  drawn  from 
that  unique  book,  full  of  simple  pathos  and  gentle  kindness, 
presents,  perhaps,  the  best  picture  of  the  character  that 
names  this  chapter : 

It  was  some  time  in  the  Summer  of  that  year  in  which 
Dendermond  was  taken  by  the  allies — which  was  about 
seven  years  before  my  father  came  into  the  country,  and 
about  as  many  after  the  time  that  my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim 
had  privately  decamped  from  my  father's  house  in  town,  in 
order  to  lay  some  of  the  finest  sieges  to  some  of  the  finest 
fortified  cities  in  Europe — when  my  uncle  Toby  was  one 
evening  getting  his  supper,  with  Trim  sitting  behind  him  at 
a  small  sideboard,  the  landlord  of  a  little  inn  in  the  village 
came  into  the  parlor,  with  an  empty  phial  in  his  hand,  to 
beg  a  glass  or  two  of  sack.  " '  T  is  for  a  poor  gentleman,  I 
think,  of  the  army,"  said  the  landlord,  "  who  has  been  taken 
ill  at  my  house  four  days  ago,  and  has  never  held  up  his 
head  since,  or  had  a  desire  to  taste  any  thing  till  just  now, 
that  he  has  a  fancy  for  a  glass  of  sack  and  a  thin  toast. 
'  I  think,'  says  he,  taking  his  hand  from  his  forehead,  '  it 

would  comfort  me.' ' 

189 


190  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  If  I  could  neither  beg,  borrow,  nor  buy  such  a  thing," 
added  the  landlord,  "  I  would  almost  steal  it  for  the  poor 
gentleman,  he  is  so  ill.  I  hope  in  God  he  will  still  mend," 
continued  he ;  "  we  are  all  of  us  concerned  for  him." 

"  Thou  art  a  good-natured  soul,  I  will  answer  for  thee," 
cried  my  uncle  Toby;  "  and  thou  shalt  drink  the  poor  gentle- 
man's health  in  a  glass  of  sack  thyself — and  take  a  couple 
of  bottles,  with  my  service,  and  tell  him  he  is  heartily  wel- 
come to  them,  and  to  a  dozen  more  if  they  will  do  him  good." 

"Though  I  am  persuaded,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  as  the 
landlord  shut  the  door,  "  he  is  a  very  compassionate  fellow, 
Trim,  yet  I  can  not  help  entertaining  a  very  high  opinion 
of  his  guest,  too ;  there  must  be  something  more  than  com- 
mon in  him,  that  in  so  short  a  time  should  win  so  much 
upon  the  affections  of  his  host."  "And  of  his  whole  family," 
added  the  corporal,  "for  they  are  all  concerned  for  him." 
"Step  after  him,"  said  my  uncle  Toby;  "do,  Trim;  and 
ask  if  he  knows  his  name." 

"  I  have  quite  forgot  it,  truly,"  said  the  landlord,  com- 
ing back  into  the  parlor  with  the  corporal,  "  but  I  can  ask 
his  son  again."  "Has  a  son  with  him  then?"  said  my 
uncle  Toby.  "  A  boy,"  replied  the  landlord,  "  of  about 
eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age ;  but  the  poor  creature  has 
tasted  almost  as  little  as  his  father;  he  does  nothing  but 
mourn  and  lament  for  him  night  and  day ;  he  has  not  stirred 
from  the  bedside  these  two  days." 

My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  thrust 
his  plate  from  before  him,  as  the  landlord  gave  him  the 
account ;  and  Trim,  without  being  ordered,  took  them  away 
without  saying  one  word,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after  brought 
him  his  pipe  and  tobacco. 

"Stay  in  the  room  a  little,"  says  my  uncle  Toby. 
"  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  after  he  had  lighted  his  pipe 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  191 

and  smoked  about  a  dozen  whiffs.  Trim  came  in  front  of 
his  master  and  made  his  bow;  my  uncle  Toby  smoked  on 
and  said  no  more.  "  Corporal,"  said  my  uncle  Toby.  The 
corporal  made  his  bow.  My  uncle  Toby  proceeded  no 
farther,  but  finished  his  pipe,  "  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
"  I  have  a  project  in  my  head,  as  it  is  a  bad  night,  of  wrap- 
ping myself  up  warm  in  my  roquelaure,  and  paying  a  visit 
to  this  poor  gentleman."  "Your  honor's  roquelaure,"  re- 
plied the  corporal,  u  has  not  been  had  on  since  the  night 
before  your  honor  received  your  wound,  when  we  mounted 
guard  in  the  trenches  before  the  gate  of  St.  Nicholas ;  and, 
besides,  it  is  so  cold  and  rainy  a  night,  that  what  with  the 
roquelaure  and  what  with  the  weather,  't  will  be  enough  to 
give  your  honor  your  death,  and  bring  on  your  honor's  tor- 
ment in  your  groin."  "  I  fear  so,"  replied  my  uncle  Toby; 
"  but  I  am  not  at  rest  in  my  mind,  Trim,  since  the  account 
the  landlord  has  given  me.  I  wish  I  had  not  known  so 
much  of  this  affair,"  added  my  uncle  Toby,  "or  that  I  had 
known  more  of  it.  How  shall  we  manage  it !"  "  Leave  it, 
an  't  please  your  honor,  to  me,"  quoth  the  corporal ;  "  I  '11 
take  my  hat  and  stick,  and  go  to  the  house,  reconnoitre,  and 
act  accordingly ;  and  I  will  bring  your  honor  a  full  account 
in  an  hour."  "  Thou  shalt  go,  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
"  and  here  's  a  shilling  for  thee  to  drink  with  his  servant." 
"  I  shall  get  it  all  out  of  him,"  said  the  corporal,  shutting 
the  door.  My  uncle  Toby  filled  his  second  pipe;  and,  had 
it  not  been  that  he  now  and  then  wandered  from  the  point, 
with  considering  whether  it  was  not  full  as  well  to  have 
the  curtain  of  the  tennaile  a  straight  line  as  a  crooked  one, 
he  might  be  said  to  have  thought  of  nothing  else  but  poor 
LeFevre  and  his  boy  the  whole  time  he  smoked  it. 

My  uncle  Toby  had  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  third 
pipe,  when  Trim  returned  and  gave  the  following  account: 


192  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  I  despaired  at  first,"  said  the  corporal,  "  of  being  able 
to  bring  back  your  honor  any  kind  of  intelligence  concern- 
ing the  poor  sick  lieutenant."  "Is  he  in  the  army,  then?" 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  He  is,"  said  the  corporal.  "And 
in  what  regiment?"  said  my  uncle  Toby.  "I'll  tell  your 
honor,"  replied  the  corporal,  "  every  thing  straight  forward, 
as  I  learnt  it."  "Then,  Trim,  I'll  fill  another  pipe,"  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  "and  not  interrupt  thee  till  thou  hast  done; 
so  sit  down  at  thy  ease,  Trim,  in  the  window-seat,  and 
begin  thy  story  again."  The  corporal  made  his  old  bow, 
which  generally  spoke  as  plain  as  a  bow  could  speak  it. 
"  Your  honor  is  good,"  and,  having  done  that,  he  sat  down 
as  he  was  ordered,  and  began  the  story  to  my  uncle  Toby 
over  again,  in  pretty  nearly  the  same  words. 

"  I  despaired  at  first,"  said  the  corporal,  "  of  being  able 
to  bring  back  any  intelligence  to  your  honor  about  the 
lieutenant  and  his  son  ;  for  when  I  asked  where  his  servant 
was,  from  whom  I  made  myself  sure  of  knowing  every  thing 
which  was  proper  to  be  asked  " — "  That 's  a  right  distinc- 
tion, Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby.  "  I  was  answered,  an 
please  your  honor,  that  he  had  no  servant  with  him ;  that 
he  had  come  to  the  inn  with  hired  horses,  which,  upon 
finding  himself  unable  to  proceed  (to  join,  I  suppose,  the 
regiment),  he  had  dismissed  the  morning  after  he  came. 
1  If  I  get  better,  my  dear,'  said  he,  as  he  gave  his  purse  to 
his  son  to  pay  the  man,  '  we  can  hire  horses  from  hence.' 
*  But,  alas !  the  poor  gentleman  will  never  get  from  hence,' 
said  the  landlady  to  mo,  '  for  I  heard  the  death-watch  all 
night  long  ;  and  when  he  dies,  the  youth,  his  son,  will  cer- 
tainly die  with  him,  for  he  is  broken-hearted  already.' 

"  I  was  hearing  this  account,"  continued  the  corporal, 
"when  the  youth  came  into  the  kitchen  to  order  the  thin 
toast  the  landlord  spoke  of;  'but  I  will  do  it  for  my  father 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  193 

myself/  said  the  youth.  'Pray  let  me  save  you  the  trouble, 
young  gentleman/  said  I,  taking  up  a  fork  for  the  purpose, 
and  offering  him  my  chair  to  sit  down  upon  by  the  fire, 
whilst  I  did  it.  'I  believe,  sir/  said  he,  very  modestly, 
'I  can  please  him  best  myself.'  'I  am  sure/  said  I,  'his 
honor  will  not  like  the  toast  the  worse  for  being  toasted  by 
an  old  soldier.'  The  youth  took  hold  of  my  hand  and  in- 
stantly burst  into  tears." 

"  Poor  youth,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  he  has  been  bred 
up  from  an  infant  in  the  army,  and  the  name  of  a  soldier, 
Trim,  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  name  of  a  friend ;  I  wish 
I  had  him  here." 

"  I  never,  in  the  longest  march,"  said  the  corporal,  "  had 
so  great  a  mind  to  my  dinner  as  I  had  to  cry  with  him  for 
company.  What  could  be  the  matter  with  me,  an'  please 
your  honor?"  "Nothing  in  the  world,  Trim,"  said  my 
uncle  Toby,  blowing  his  nose;  "but  that  thou  art  a  good- 
natured  fellow." 

"  When  I  gave  him  the  toast,"  continued  the  corporal, 
"  I  thought  it  was  proper  to  tell  him  I  was  Captain  Shandy's 
servant,  and  that  your  honor  (though  a  stranger)  was  ex- 
tremely concerned  for  his  father;  and  that  if  there  was  any 
thing  in  your  house  or  cellar,  ('and  thou  mightst  have 
added  my  purse,  too/  said  my  uncle  Toby,)  he  was  heartily 
welcome  to  it.  He  made  a  very  low  bow  (which  was  meant 
to  your  honor),  but  no  answer — for  his  heart  was  full — so 
he  went  upstairs  with  the  toast.  '  I  warrant  you,  my  dear/ 
said  I,  as  I  opened  the  kitchen  door,  'your  father  will  be 
well  again.'  Mr.  Yorick's  curate  was  smoking  a  pipe  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  but  said  not  a  word,  good  or  bad,  to  comfort 
the  youth.  I  thought  it  was  wrong,"  added  the  corporal. 
"I  think  so,  too,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"  When  the  lieutenant  had  taken  his  glass  of  sack  and 


194          BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

toast,  he  felt  himself  a  little  revived,  and  sent  down  into  the 
kitchen  to  let  me  know  that  in  about  ten  minutes  he  should 
be  glad  if  I  would  come  upstairs.  '  I  believe/  said  the  land- 
lord, '  he  was  going  to  say  his  prayers,  for  there  was  a  book 
laid  upon  the  chair  by  his  bedside;  and  as  I  shut  the  door 
I  saw  his  son  take  up  a  cushion/ 

"'I  thought/  said  the  curate,  'that  you  gentlemen  of 
the  army,  Mr.  Trim,  never  said  your  prayers  at  all/  1 1 
heard  the  poor  gentleman  say  his  prayers  last  night/  said 
the  landlady,  *  very  devoutly,  and  with  my  own  ears,  or  I 
could  not  have  believed  it/  '  Are  you  sure  of  it/  replied 
the  curate.  'A  soldier,  an'  please  your  reverence/  said  I, 
'  prays  as  often  (of  his  own  accord)  as  a  parson ;  and  when  he 
is  fighting  for  his  king  and  for  his  own  life,  and  for  his  honor 
too,  he  has  the  most  reason  to  pray  to  God  of  any  one  in  the 
whole  world/ "  "'T  was  well  said  of  thee,  Trim,"  said  my 
uncle  Toby.  " '  But  when  a  soldier/  said  I,  (  an  '  please 
your  reverence,  has  been  standing  for  twelve  hours  together 
in  the  trenches  up  to  his  knees  in  cold  water,  or  engaged/ 
said  I,  '  for  months  together  in  long  and  dangerous  marches ; 
harassed,  perhaps,  in  his  rear  to-day;  harassing  others  to- 
morrow ;  detached  here ;  countermanded  there ;  resting  this 
night  upon  his  arms;  beat  up  in  his  shirt  the  next ;  benumbed 
in  his  joints ;  perhaps  without  straw  in  his  tent  to  kneel  on, 
he  must  say  his  prayers  how  and  when  he  can,  I  believe/ 
said  I,  for  I  was  piqued,"  quoth  the  corporal,  "  for  the  repu- 
tation of  the  army.  '  I  believe,  an 't  please  your  reverence/ 
said  I,  '  that  when  a  soldier  gets  time  to  pray,  he  prays  as 
heartily  as  a  parson,  though  not  with  all  his  fuss  and 
hypocrisy/ "  "  Thou  shouldst  not  have  said  that,  Trim," 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  "for  God  only  knows  who  is  a  hypo- 
crite and  who  is  not.  At  the  great  and  general  review  of  us 
all,  corporal,  at  the  day  of  judgment  (and  not  till  then),  it 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  195 

will  be  seen  who  has  done  their  duties  in  this  world  and  who 
has  not;  and  we  shall  be  advanced,  Trim,  accordingly."  "  I 
hope  we  shall,"  said  Trim.  "  It  is  in  the  Scripture,"  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  "  and  I  will  show  it  thee  to-morrow.  In 
the  meantime,  we  may  depend  upon  it,  Trim,  for  our  com- 
fort," said  my  uncle  Toby,  "that  God  Almighty  is  so  good 
and  just  a  governor  of  the  world,  that  if  we  have  but  done 
our  duties  in  it,  it  will  never  be  inquired  into  whether  we 
have  done  them  in  a  red  coat  or  a  black  one."  "I  hope 
not,"  said  the  corporal.  "  But  go  on,  Trim/'  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  "with  thy  story." 

"When,  I  went  up,"  continued  the  corporal,  "into  the 
lieutenant's  room,  which  I  did  not  do  till  the  expiration  of 
the  ten  minutes,  he  was  lying  in  his  bed  with  his  head  raised 
up  on  his  hand,  with  his  elbow  upon  the  pillow,  and  a  clean 
white  cambric  handkerchief  beside  it.  The  youth  was  just 
stooping  down  to  take  up  the  cushion  upon  which  I  supposed 
he  had  been  kneeling;  the  book  was  laid  upon  the  bed, 
and  as  he  rose,  in  taking  up  the  cushion  with  one  hand, 
he  reached  out  his  other  to  take  it  away  at  the  same  time. 
'Let  it  remain  there,  my  dear/  said  the  lieutenant. 

"  He  did  not  offer  to  speak  to  me  till  I  had  walked  up  close 
to  his  bedside.  '  If  you  are  Captain  Shandy's  servant/  said 
he,  'you  must  present  my  thanks  to  your  master,  with  my 
little  boy's  thanks  along  with  them,  for  his  courtesy  to  me, 
if  he  was  of  the  Leven's/  said  the  lieutenant.  I  told  him 
your  honor  was.  '  Then/  said  he,  '  I  served  three  cam- 
paigns with  him  in  Flanders,  and  remember  him;  but 
't  is  most  likely,  as  I  had  not  the  honor  of  any  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  me.  You 
will  tell  him,  however,  that  the  person  his  good  nature  has 
laid  under  obligations  to  him,  is  one  LeFevre,  a  lieutenant 
in  Angus's;  but  he  knows  me  not/  said  he  a  second  time, 


196  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

musing.  '  Possibly,  he  may  my  story/  added  he ;  ( pray  tell  the 
captain  I  was  the  ensign  at  Breda  whose  wife  was  most  unfor- 
tunately killed  with  a  musket-shot,  as  siie  lay  in  my  arms 
in  my  tent.'  '  I  remember  the  story,  an  }t  please  your  honor,' 
said  I,  very  well.'  'Do  you  so?'  said  he,  wiping  his  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief;  'then  well  may  I.'  In  saying  this, 
he  drew  a  little  ring  out  of  his  bosom,  which  seemed  tied 
with  a  black  ribbon  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  it  twice. 
'  Here,  Billy,'  said  he.  The  boy  flew  across  the  room  to 
the  bedside,  and,  falling  down  upon  his  knee,  took  the  ring 
in  his  hand,  and  kissed  it,  too;  then  kissed  his  father,  and 
sat  down  upon  the  bed  and  wept." 

"I  wish,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "I 
wish,  Trim,  I  was  asleep." 

"  Your  honor,"  replied  the  corporal,  "  is  too  much  con- 
cerned. Shall  I  pour  your  honor  out  a  glass  of  sack  to 
your  pipe  ?"  "  Do,  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"  I  remember,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  sighing  again,  "  the 
story  of  the  ensign  and  his  wife,  with  a  circumstance  his 
modesty  omitted;  and  particularly  well  that  he,  as  well  as 
she,  upon  some  account  or  other  (I  forget  what),  was  uni- 
versally pitied  by  the  whole  regiment;  but  finish  the  story 
thou  art  upon."  "'Tis  finished  already,"  said  the  corporal, 
"for  I  could  stay  no  longer,  so  wished  his  honor  good- 
night. Young  LeFevre  rose  from  off  the  bed  and  saw  me 
to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs ;  and,  as  we  went  down  together, 
told  me  they  had  come  from  Ireland,  and  were  on  their 
route  to  join  their  regiment  in  Flanders.  "  But,  alas,"  said 
the  corporal,  "the  lieutenant's  last  day's  march  is  over." 
"  Then  what  is  to  become  of  his  poor  boy  ?"  cried  my  uncle 
Toby. 

It  was  to  my  uncle  Toby's  eternal  honor,  though  I  tell 
it  only  for  the  sake  of  those  who,  when  cooped  in  betwixt 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  197 

a  natural  and  a  positive  law,  know  not,  for  their  souls, 
which  way  in  the  world  to  turn  themselves,  that,  notwith- 
standing my  uncle  Toby  was  warmly  engaged  at  that  time 
in  carrying  on  the  siege  of  Dendermond,  parallel  with  the 
allies,  who  pressed  theirs  on  so  vigorously  that  they  scarce 
allowed  him  to  get  his  dinner,  that,  nevertheless,  he  gave 
up  Dendermond,  although  he  had  already  made  a  lodgment 
upon  the  counterscarp,  and  bent  his  whole  thoughts  toward 
the  private  distresses  at  the  inn,  and  that,  except  that  he  or- 
dered the  garden  gate  to  be  bolted  up,  by  which  he  might 
be  said  to  have  turned  the  siege  of  Dendermond  into  a  block- 
ade, he  left  Dendermond  to  itself,  to  be  relieved  or  not  by 
the  French  king  as  the  French  king  thought  good,  and 
only  considered  how  he  himself  should  relieve  the  poor  lieu- 
tenant and  his  son. 

That  kind  Being,  who  is  a  friend  to  the  friendless,  shall 
recompense  thee  for  this. 

"Thou  hast  left  this  matter  short,"  said  my  uncle  Toby 
to  the  corporal,  as  he  was  putting  him  to  bed,  "and  I  will 
tell  thee  in  what,  Trim.  In  the  first  place,  when  thou  madest 
an  offer  of  my  services  to  LeFevre,  as  sickness  and  travel- 
ing are  both  expensive,  and  thou  knewest  he  was  but  a  poor 
lieutenant,  with  a  son  to  subsist  as  well  as  himself  out  of 
his  pay,  that  thou  didst  not  make  an  offer  to  him  of  my 
purse,  because,  had  he  stood  in  need,  thou  knowest,  Trim, 
he  had  been  as  welcome  to  it  as  myself." 

"Your  honor  knows,"  said  the  corporal,  "I  had  no  or- 
ders." "  True,"  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  "  thou  did'st  very 
right,  Trim,  as  a  soldier,  but  certainly  very  wrong  as  a 
man." 

"  In  the  second  place,  for  which,  indeed,  thou  hast  the 
same  excuse,"  continued  my  uncle  Toby,  "  when  thou  offer- 
edst  him  whatever  was  in  my  house,  thou  shouldst  have  offered 


198  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

him  my  house,  too.  A  sick  brother  officer  should  have  the 
best  quarters,  Trim,  and  if  we  had  him  with  us,  we  could 
tend  and  look  to  him.  Thou  art  an  excellent  nurse  thyself, 
Trim,  and  what  with  thy  care  of  him,  and  the  old  woman's, 
and  his  boy's  and  mine  together,  we  might  recruit  him  again 
at  once  and  set  him  upon  his  legs." 

"In  a  fortnight,  or  three  weeks,"  added  my  uncle  Toby, 
smiling,  "  he  might  march."  "  He  will  never  march,  an', 
please  your  honor,  in  this  world,"  said  the  corporal.  "  He 
will  march,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  rising  from  the  side  of 
the  bed  with  one  shoe  oif.  "An',  please  your  honor,"  said 
the  corporal,  "he  will  never  march,  but  to  his  grave."  "He 
shall  march,"  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  marching  the  foot  which 
had  a  shoe  on,  though  without  advancing  an  inch,  "  he  shall 
march  to  his  regiment."  "  He  can  not  stand  it,"  said  the 
corporal.  "  He  shall  be  supported,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 
"  He  '11  drop  at  last,"  said  the  corporal,  "  and  what  will  be- 
come of  his  boy  ?"  "  He  shall  not  drop,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  firmly.  "Ah,  welladay,  do  what  we  can  for  him," 
said  Trim,  maintaining  his  point,  "  the  poor  soul  will  die." 
"  He  shall  not  die,  by  G — d,"  cried  my  uncle  Toby. 

The  accusing  spirit  which  flew  up  to  heaven's  chancery 
with  the  oath,  blushed  as  he  gave  it  in,  and  the  recording 
angel,  as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropped  a  tear  upon  the  word 
and  blotted  it  out  forever. 

My  uncle  Toby  went  to  his  bureau,  put  his  purse  into 
his  breeches  pocket,  and,  having  ordered  the  corporal  to  go 
early  in  the  morning  for  a  physician,  he  went  to  bed  and 
fell  asleep. 

The  sun  looked  bright  the  morning  after  to  every  eye  in 
the  village  but  LeFevre's  and  his  afflicted  son's;  the  hand 
of  death  pressed  heavy  upon  his  eyelids,  and  hardly  could 
the  wheel  at  the  cistern  turn  round  its  circle  when  my  uncle 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  199 

Toby,  who  had  rose  up  an  hour  before  his  wonted  time,  en- 
tered the  lieutenant's  room,  and,  without  preface  or  apology, 
set  himself  down  upon  the  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  inde- 
pendently of  all  modes  and  customs,  opened  the  curtain  in 
the  manner  an  old  friend  and  brother  officer  would  have 
done  it,  and  asked  him  how  he  did  ;  how  he  had  rested  in 
the  night;  what  was  his  complaint;  where  was  his  pain,  and 
what  could  he  do  to  help  him?  and  without  giving  him  time 
to  answer  any  one  of  the  inquiries,  went  on  and  told  him  of 
the  little  plan  which  he  had  been  concerting  with  the  corporal, 
the  night  before,  for  him. 

"You  shall  go  home  directly,  LeFevre,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  "  to  my  house,  and  we  '11  send  for  a  doctor  to  see  what 's 
the  matter,  and  we'll  have  an  apothecary,  and  the  corporal 
shall  be  your  nurse  and  I'll  be  your  servant,  LeFevre." 

There  was  a  frankness  in  my  Uncle  Toby,  not  the  effect 
of  familiarity,  but  the  cause  of  it,  which  let  you  at  once 
into  his  soul  and  showed  you  the  goodness  of  his  nature; 
to  this,  there  was  something  in  his  looks,  and  voice,  and 
manner  superadded,  which  eternally  beckoned  to  the  un- 
fortunate to  come  and  take  shelter  under  him ;  so  that  before 
my  uncle  Toby  had  half  finished  the  kind  offers  he  was 
making  to  the  father,  had  the  son  insensibly  pressed  up  close 
to  his  knees,  and  had  taken  hold  of  the  breast  of  his  coat 
and  was  pulling  it  toward  him.  The  blood  and  spirits  of 
LeFevre,  which  were  waxing  cold  and  slow  within  him, 
and  were  retreating  to  their  last  citadel,  the  heart,  rallied 
back,  the  film  forsook  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  he  looked 
up  wishfully  in  my  uncle  Toby's  face,  then  cast  a  look  upon 
his  boy,  and  that  ligament,  fine  as  it  was,  was  never  broken. 

Nature  instantly  ebbed  again ;  the  film  returned  to  its 
place;  the  pulse  fluttered — stopped — went  on — throbbed — 
stopped  again — moved — stopped — shall  I  go  on?  No. 


XXIII. 

G1WW& 

(BORN  1750— DIED  1831.) 

THE  NAPOLEON  OF  MERCHANTS— HIS  LIFE  SUCCESSFUL,  AND  YET  A 

FAILURE. 


MAGINE  the  figure  of  an  old  man,  low  in  stat- 
ure, squarely  built,  clumsily  dressed,  and  standing 
on  large  feet.  To  this  uncouth  form,  add  a  re- 
pulsive face,  wrinkled,  cold,  colorless,  and  stony, 
with  one  eye  dull  and  the  other  blind — a  "  wall-eye."  His 
expression  is  that  of  a  man  wrapped  in  the  mystery  of  his 
own  hidden  thoughts.  He  looks — 

"  Like  monumental  bronze,  unchanged  his  look — 
A  soul  which  pity  never  touched  or  shook — 
Trained,  from  his  lowly  cradle  to  his  bier, 
The  fierce  extremes  of  good  and  ill  to  brook 
Unchanging,  fearing  but  the  charge  of  fear — 
A  stoic  of  the  mart,  a  man  without  a  tear." 

Such  a  man  was  Stephen  Girard,  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished merchants  in  the  annals  of  commerce,  and  the 
founder  of  the  celebrated  Girard  College  in  Philadelphia. 
Let  us  briefly  trace  his  history  and  observe  his  character. 

Girard  was  a  Frenchman  by  birth,  born  in  the  environs 
of  Bordeaux,  in  May,  1750,  of  obscure  parents.  His  early 
instruction  was  very  limited ;  and,  being  deformed  by  a 
wall-eye,  he  was  an  object  of  ridicule  to  the  companions  of 
his  boyhood.  This  treatment,  as  is  supposed  by  his  biog- 
rapher, soured  his  temper,  made  him  shrink  from  society, 
and  led  him  to  live  among  his  own  thoughts  rather  than  in 
mental  communion  with  his  fellows. 
200 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  201 

The  precise  cause  of  his  leaving  his  native  hearth-stone 
is  unknown.  The  fact  is  certain  that  he  did  leave  it,  when 
only  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  and  sailed,  a  poor  cabin-boy, 
to  the  West  Indies.  This  was  his  starting-point  in  life. 
Never  had  any  boy  a  smaller  capital  on  which  to  build  his 
fortune.  He  went  out  from  his  unhappy  home,  ignorant, 
poor,  unfriended,  and  unknown.  That  from  such  a  cheerless 
beginning  he  should  rise  to  the  rank  of  a  merchant  prince 
must  be  accounted  one  of  the  marvels  of  human  history. 

His  first  step  was  to  gain  the  confidence  of  his  superiors, 
not  so  much  by  affability  and  courtesy — for  of  these  social 
virtues  he  was  never  possessed — as  by  steady  good  conduct, 
fidelity  to  his  employers,  temperance,  and  studied  effort  to 
do  his  humble  duties  well.  Whatsoever  his  hands  found  to 
do  he  did  with  his  might.  As  a  consequence,  we  find 
him,  in  a  few  years,  in  high  favor  with  a  Captain  Randall, 
of  New  York,  who  always  spoke  of  him  as  "  my  Stephen," 
and  who  promoted  him  from  one  position  to  another,  until 
he  secured  him  the  command  of  a  small  vessel,  and  sent 
him  on  trading  voyages  between  the  ports  of  New  York  and 
New  Orleans.  That  the  poor  cabin-boy  should  rise,  by  his 
own  merits,  in  some  six  or  seven  years,  to  be  the  commander 
of  a  vessel  was  success  such  as  few  lads  have  ever  won 
with  such  slender  means  and  few  helps  as  were  within 
reach  of  young  Girard. 

When  only  nineteen,  we  find  him  in  Philadelphia,  driv- 
ing a  thrifty  but  quiet  trade  in  a  little  shop  in  Water 
Street.  Shortly  after  opening  this  store,  his  fancy  was  taken 
captive  by  a  maiden  of  sixteen  Summers,  named  Mary,  but 
familiarly  called  Polly,  Lum.  She  was  a  shipwright's 
daughter,  a  pretty  brunette,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  going 
to  the  neighboring  pump,  barefooted,  "  with  her  rich, 
glossy,  black  hair  hanging  in  disheveled  curls  about  her 


202  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

neck."  Her  modesty  pleased  him,  her  beauty  charmed  him, 
and,  after  a  few  months  of  rude  courtship,  he  was  married 
to  her,  in  1770. 

His  marriage,  instead  of  carrying  happiness  into  the 
home  over  which  he  installed  his  beautiful  bride,  only  em- 
bittered two  lives.  It  was  a  union  of  mere  fancy  on  his 
side,  and  of  self-interest  on  hers,  not  of  genuine  affection. 
Their  dispositions  were  not  congenial.  She  was  ignorant, 
vulgar,  slovenly.  He  was  arbitrary,  harsh,  rude,  imperious, 
unyielding.  How  could  their  lives  flow  on  evenly  together? 
It  was  impossible.  The  result  was  misery  to  both,  and,  as 
\ve  shall  see  hereafter,  the  once  beautiful  Polly  Lum  ended 
her  days  in  a  mad-house — a  sad  illustration  of  the  folly  of 
premature,  ill-assorted  marriages. 

Finding  little  at  his  fireside  to  move  his  heart,  Girard 
gave  his  whole  soul  to  business,  now  trading  to  San  Do- 
mingo and  New  Orleans,  and  then  in  his  store  in  Water 
Street.  When  the  Revolutionary  War  began,  it  swept  his 
commercial  ventures  from  the  ocean,  but  he,  still  bent  on 
gain  and  indifferent  as  to  the  means  of  winning  it,  then 
opened  a  grocery,  and  engaged  in  bottling  cider  and  claret. 
When  the  British  army  occupied  Philadelphia,  he  moved 
this  bottling  business  to  Mount  Holly,  in  New  Jersey,  where 
he  continued  until  the  American  flag  again  floated  over  In- 
dependence Hall. 

But  times  were  hard  and  money  scarce,  and  for  awhile 
Girard  added  very  little  to  his  means.  Yet  his  keen  eye 
was  sharply  watching  for  golden  opportunities,  and  his 
active  mind  busily  thinking  how  to  create  or  improve  them. 
In  1780,  circumstances  made  trade  with  New  Orleans  and 
San  Domingo  very  profitable.  He  promptly  engaged  in  it, 
and  in  two  years  doubled  his  resources. 

Peace  being  restored,  Girard,  full  of  faith  in  the  future 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  203 

of  his  adopted  country,  leased  a  block  of  stores  for  ten 
years  at  a  very  low  rent.  The  following  year,  while  busi- 
ness still  lay  stunned  by  the  blows  it  had  received  during 
the  war,  he  obtained  a  stipulation  from  his  landlord,  giving 
him  the  right  to  renew  his  lease  for  a  second  ten  years,  if 
he  chose  to  demand  it,  when  the  first  one  should  expire. 
This  was  an  act  of  judicious  foresight.  When,  at  the  ex- 
piration of  the  first  lease,  he  visited  his  landlord,  that  gen- 
tleman, on  seeing  him  enter  his  counting-room,  said  : 

"Well,  Mr.  Girard,  you  have  made  out  so  well  by  your 
bargain  that  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  hold  me  to  the  re- 
newal of  the  lease  for  ten  years  more." 

"  I  have  come,"  replied  Gerard,  with  a  look  of  grim  sat- 
isfaction, "  to  secure  the  ten  years  more.  I  shall  not  let  you 
off." 

Nor  did  he.  And  the  great  profits  he  derived  from  that 
fortunate  lease  greatly  broadened  the  foundation  of  his  sub- 
sequently colossal  fortune. 

As  yet,  however,  his  wealth  was  very  moderate,  for  in 
1790,  at  the  dissolution  of  a  partnership  he  had  formed 
with  his  brother  who  had  come  to  America,  his  own  share 
of  the  business  amounted  to  only  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
And  yet,  forty  years  later,  he  died  leaving  a  fortune  of  ten 
millions. 

It  is  sad,  but  may  be  profitable  to  know,  that  his  hap- 
piness did  not  increase  with  his  possessions.  While  his 
balance-sheets  recorded  increasing  assets,  his  hearthstone 
echoed  louder  and  wilder  echoes  of  discordant  voices.  He 
was  jealous,  arbitrary,  and  passionate ;  his  unfortunate  wife 
was  resentful,  fiery,  and  finally  so  furious  that,  in  1790,  she 
was  admitted  as  a  maniac  to  an  insane  hospital,  which  she 
never  left  until  she  was  carried  to  her  grave,  unwept  and 
unregretted,  twenty-five  years  after.  Their  only  child  had 


204  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

gone  to  an  early  grave.  Girard's  nature  must  have  been 
strangely  perverted  if  he  counted,  as  he  seems  to  have  done, 
the  pleasure  of  making  money  a  compensation  for  the  absence 
of  true  womanly  love  from  his  cheerless  fireside.  His  heart, 
no  doubt,  was  as  unsentimental  as  the  gold  he  loved  to  hoard. 
The  terrible  retribution  which  about  this  time  overtook 
the  slave-holders  of  St.  Domingo,  when  their  slaves  threw 
off  their  oppressive  yoke,  added  considerably  to  his  rising 
fortunes.  He  happened  to  have  two  vessels  in  that  port 
when  the  tocsin  of  insurrection  rang  out  its  fearful  notes. 
Frantic  with  apprehension,  many  planters  rushed  with  their 
costliest  treasure  to  these  ships,  left  them  in  care  of  their 
officers,  and  went  back  for  more.  But  the  blood-stained 
hand  of  massacre  prevented  their  return.  They  and  their 
heirs  perished  by  knife  or  bullet,  and  the  unclaimed  treas- 
ure was  taken  to  Philadelphia,  to  swell  the  stream  of  Girard's 
wealth.  He  deemed  this  a  lucky  accident,  no  doubt;  and 
smothered  his  sympathies  for  the  sufferers  in  the  satisfaction 
he  felt  over  the  addition  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  his 
growing  estate.  It  stimulated,  if  it  did  not  beget,  the  dream 
of  his  life,  the  passion  which  possessed  his  soul,  which  was 
to  acquire  wealth  by  which  his  name  might  be  kept  before 
the  world  forever.  "  My  deeds  must  be  my  life.  When  I 
am  dead  my  actions  must  speak  for  me,"  he  said  to  an  ac- 
quaintance one  day,  and  thus  gave  expression  to  his  plan  of 
life.  There  was  nothing  intrinsically  noble  in  it.  If  the 
means  he  finally  adopted  bore  a  philanthropic  stamp  on  their 
face,  his  motive  was  purely  personal,  and  therefore  low  and 
selfish.  What  he  toiled  for  was  a  name  that  would  never 
die.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that  this  end  could 
be  most  surely  gained  by  linking  it  with  the  philanthropic 
spirit  of  the  Christianity  which  he  detested.  And  hence 
arose  his  idea  of  founding  Girard  College. 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  205 

Shortly  after  plucking  the  golden  fruit  which  fell  into 
his  hands  from  the  St.  Domingo  insurrection  Girard  enlarged 
his  business  by  building  several  splendid  ships  and  entering 
into  the  China  and  India  trade.  His  operations  in  this  line 
were  managed  with  a  spirit  that  indicated  a  true  mercantile 
genius,  and  contributed  greatly  to  the  enlargement  of  his 
fortune. 

He  made  these  ships  the  visible  expressions  of  his  thoughts 
on  religion  and  philosophy  by  naming  them,  after  his  favor- 
ite authors,  the  Montesquieu,  the  Helvetius,  the  Voltaire,  and 
the  Rousseau.  He  thus  defiantly  assured  the  world  that  he 
was  not  only  a  skeptic,  but  that  he  also  gloried  in  that  by 
no  means  creditable  fact. 

* 

Girard's  life  was  filled  with  enigmas.  He  really  loved 
no  living  soul.  He  had  no  sympathies.  He  would  not  part 
with  his  money  to  save  agent,  servant,  neighbor,  or  relation 
from  death.  Nevertheless,  when  the  yellow  fever  spread  dis- 
may, desolation,  and  death  throughout  Philadelphia,  in  1793, 
sweeping  one-sixth  of  its  population  into  the  grave  in  about 
sixty  days,  he  devoted  himself  to  nursing  the  sick  in  the 
hospital  with  a  self-sacrificing  zeal  which  knew  no  bounds, 
and  which  excited  universal  admiration  and  praise.  His 
biographer  accounts  for  this  conduct,  repeated  on  two  sub- 
sequent visitations  of  that  terrible  fever,  by  supposing  that 
he  was  naturally  benevolent,  but  that  his  early  trials  had 
sealed  up  the  fountains  of  his  human  feeling.  A  great  pub- 
lic catastrophe  broke  the  seal,  the  suppressed  fountain  flowed 
until  the  day  of  terror  passed,  and  then  with  resolute  will 
he  resealed  the  fountain,  and  became  a  cold-hearted,  selfish 
man  again. 

His  selfish  disregard  for  the  claims  of  his  dependents 
was  shown,  one  day,  when  one  of  his  most  successful  cap- 
tains, who  had  risen  from  the  humble  position  of  appren- 


206  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

tice  to  the  command  of  a  fine  ship,  asked  to  be  transferred 
to  another  ship.  Girard  made  him  no  reply,  but,  turning 
to  his  desk,  said  to  his  chief  clerk: 

"  Roberjot,  make  out  Captain  Galigar'a  account  imme- 
diately." 

When  this  order  was  obeyed  and  the  account  settled,  he 
coolly  said  to  the  faithful  officer: 

"  You  are  discharged,  sir.  I  do  not  make  the  voyage 
for  my  captains,  but  for  myself." 

There  was  no  appeal  to  be  made  from  this  unjust,  ar- 
bitrary decision,  and  the  man  who  had  served  him  faithfully 
seventeen  years  left  his  counting-room  to  seek  another  em- 
ployer. 

Discourtesy  was  also  a  characteristic  of  this  unlovely 
and  unloving  man.  He  never  considered  men's  feelings,  nor 
sought  to  give  pleasure  to  others  by  means  of  the  small 
courtesies  of  life.  He  had  a  farm  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city, 
and  a  garden  at  the  back  of  his  town  residence.  In  both 
he  cultivated  beautiful  flowers  and  rare  fruits;  but  never, 
either  to  visitors  or  neighbors,  did  he  offer  gifts  of  either. 
Rich  though  he  was,  he  sent  the  surplus  to  market.  He 
once  told  a  visitor  he  might  glean  strawberries  from  a  bed 
which  had  been  pretty  thoroughly  picked  over.  Returning 
from  the  lower  part  of  the  garden,  he  found  the  gentleman 
picking  berries  from  a  full  bed.  With  a  look  of  astonish- 
ment, and  a  voice  of  half-suppressed  anger,  he  pointed  to 
the  exhausted,  bed  and  said : 

"  I  gave  you  permission  only  to  eat  from  that  bed." 

Singular  meanness !  Yet,  notwithstanding  this  narrow 
disposition,  which  ran  like  veins  abnormally  distended  over 
nearly  all  his  habits  of  life,  he  could,  and  did  at  times,  do 
liberal  things.  But  even  in  such  things  he  was  capricious 
and  eccentric;  as  when  a  highly  esteemed  Quaker,  named 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  207 

Coates,  asked  him  one  day  to  make  a  donation  to  the  Penn- 
sylvania Hospital.  He  replied: 

"  Call  on  me  to-morrow  morning,  Mr.  Coates,  and  if  you 
find  me  on  a  right  footing,  I  will  do  something." 

Mr.  Coates  called  as  requested,  and  found  Girard  at 
breakfast. 

"  Draw  up  and  eat,"  said  Girard. 

Coates  did  so  quite  readily.  The  repast  ended,  he  said, 
"  Now  we  will  proceed  to  business,  Stephen." 

"Well,  what  have  you  come  for,  Samuel?" 

"Any  thing  thee  pleases,  Stephen,"  rejoined  the  Quaker. 

Girard  filled  out  and  signed  a  check  for  two  hundred 
dollars.  Coates  took  it,  and,  without  noting  how  much  was 
the  amount,  put  it  in  his  pocket-book. 

"  What,  you  no  look  at  the  check  I  gave  you !"  exclaimed 
the  merchant. 

"  No,  beggars  must  not  be  choosers." 

"  Hand  me  back  the  check  I  gave  you,"  demanded 
Girard. 

"  No,  no,  Stephen ;  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in 
the  bush,"  responded  Coates. 

"  By  George,"  exclaimed  Girard,  "  you  have  caught  me 
on  the  right  footing" 

He  then  drew  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars,  which 
he  laid  before  the  Quaker,  saying :  "  Will  you  now  look  at 
it,  Samuel!" 

"  Well,  to  please  thee,  Stephen,  I  will." 

He  did  so,  and  then,  at  Girard's  request,  returned  the 
first  and  went  away  triumphantly  with  the  second  check. 

Skeptic  though  he  was,  Girard  sometimes  gave  money  to 
build  churches,  not  because  they  were  churches,  but  because, 
as  buildings,  they  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  the 
city.  To  a  brother  merchant,  who  solicited  aid  toward 


208  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

building  a  Methodist   church,  he  once   presented    a  check 
for  five  hundred  dollars,  saying: 

"I  approve  of  your  motives,  and,  as  the  erection  of  such 
a  building  will  tend  to  improve  that  quarter  of  the  city,  I 
am  willing  to  assist  in  the  furtherance  of  your  object." 

It  happened  that  the  church  to  which  he  thus  contrib- 
uted was  subsequently  sold  to  the  Episcopalians,  who  pro- 
ceeded to  convert  it  into  a  Gothic  structure  at  a  very 
considerable  outlay.  They  also  waited  on  Girard  soliciting 
a  contribution.  He  handed  them  a  check  for  five  hundred 
dollars.  The  gentlemen  solicitors  looked  blank,  and  in- 
timated that  he  had  made  the  mistake  of  omitting  a  cipher. 
He  had  given  the  "  poor  Methodists  "  that  sum  they  pleaded ; 
he  surely  must  have  intended  to  make  his  present  gift  five 
thousand.  With  this  remark  they  handed  back  the  check, 
requesting  him  to  add  the  desired  cipher. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,  what  you  say  ?  I  have  made  one  mis- 
take? Let  me  see;  I  believe  not;  but  if  you  say  so  I  must 
correct  it." 

Thus  saying,  he  took  up  the  check,  tore  it  to  pieces,  and 
added:  "I  will  not  contribute  one  cent.  Your  society  is 
wealthy.  The  Methodists  are  poor,  but  I  make  no  distinc- 
tion. '  Yet  I  can  not  please  you.  ...  I  have  nothing 
to  give  for  your  magnificent  church." 

But,  with  all  his  offensive  peculiarities,  Girard  continued 
to  increase  his  wealth.  His  ships  spread  their  sails  on  every 
sea  and  earned  money  for  him  in  every  great  commercial 
port.  In  1812  he  founded  the  old  Girard  Bank,  and  added 
the  rich  profits  of  banking  to  the  immense  gains  of  his  vast 
mercantile  transactions.  This  new  enterprise  greatly  en- 
larged the  sphere  of  his  influence,  especially  as  in  matters 
pertaining  to  the  financial  interests  of  the  country  and  of 
the  city  of  Philadelphia  he  manifested  a  degree  of  public 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  209 

spirit  which  contrasted  marvelously  with  his  narrowness, 
meanness,  and  even  inhumanity,  in  dealing  with  individual 
and  private  interests.  He  was  certainly  a  patriotic  man. 
Nevertheless,  as  his  biographer  demonstrates,  he  always  con- 
trived to  make  his  patriotism  tributary  to  the  increase  of 
his  immense  wealth.  His  magnificent  purchases  of  United 
States  securities  in  times  of  pecuniary  disaster,  though  they 
contributed  immensely  to  the  credit  of  the  government, 
were  not  wholly  patriotic.  They  were,  to  his  far-seeing 
mind,  investments  which  were  sure  to  pay.  And  he  knew 
also  that  the  very  magnitude  of  his  purchases  would,  by 
strengthening  public  confidence,  insure  the  profitable  returns 
he  sought.  Still,  there  is  no  room  for  doubting  the  sincerity 
of  his  attachment  to  the  country  of  his  adoption. 

This  fortunate  accumulator  of  millions  took  very  little 
from  his  hoards  for  the  promotion  of  his  personal  ease  and 
physical  enjoyments.  He  lived  in  a  plain  mansion,  simply 
furnished,  and  standing  in  the  midst  of  warehouses,  where 
the  din  of  business,  the  rolling  of  heavy  wheels,  and  the 
city's  noisiest  roar,  constantly  filled  his  ears.  His  table  was 
plentifully  but  not  luxuriously  supplied.  As  he  grew  old  it 
was  extremely  simple.  He  gave  no  parties,  invited  none  to 
share  his  hospitality,  except  now  and  then  an  individual  from 
whom  he  had  reason  for  believing  he  could  extract  informa- 
tion which  would  be  useful  to  him.  He  worked  incessantly 
at  his  business,  rising  at  three  or  four  o'clock  and  toiling 
until  after  midnight.  His  keen  eye  inspected  every  depart- 
ment of  his  complicated  business,  from  the  discounting  of  a 
note  to  the  building  of  a  ship  or  the  erection  of  a  building. 
His  only  recreation  was  his  garden,  his  farm  at  Passyunk, 
or  the  training  of  his  birds.  His  life  was  coined  into  work. 
Its  only  real  pleasure  was  derived  from  the  accumulation  of 
the  money  which  was  to  make  his  name  immortal. 

14 


210  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

In  1830  the  sight  of  his  eye  grew  so  dim  that  it  was 
both  difficult  and  dangerous  for  him  to  grope  his  way  along 
the  familiar  streets  where  he  transacted  business.  But  so 
obstinately  self-reliant  was  he  that  he  refused  the  aid  of  an 
attendant.  He  paid  dearly  for  this  obstinacy ;  for,  one  day 
as  he  was  going  home  from  his  bank,  he  was  knocked  down 
by  a  wagon  on  a  street-crossing.  A  gentleman,  seeing  him 
fall,  rushed  to  his  assistance.  But  before  he  could  reach 
him  the  plucky  old  merchant  was  on  his  feet  shouting, 
"  Stop  that  fellow  !  stop  that  fellow  !" 

He  was  badly  hurt.  Nevertheless,  he  persisted  in  walk- 
ing home.  When  his  physician  came  his  face  was  found  to 
be  seriously  wounded.  His  right  ear  was  almost  entirely 
cut  off.  His  eye  was  entirely  closed.  His  entire  system 
had  received  a  violent  shock,  from  which  it  never  recovered. 
His  wound  healed,  but  from  that  time  his  body  began  to 
waste,  his  face  grew  thin,  and  his  natural  force  began  to 
abate.  His  strength  was  sadly  impaired,  and '  when,  in 
December,  1831,  he  was  attacked  by  a  prevailing  influenza, 
his  worn-out  system  succumbed.  The  disease  touched  his 
powerful  brain.  He  became  first  insane  and  then  insensible, 
until,  on  the  26th  of  December,  1831,  this  old  man  of  eighty- 
two  rose  from  his  bed,  walked  across  his  chamber,  returned 
almost  immediately  to  his  bed,  and  then,  placing  his  hand 
upon  his  burning  head,  exclaimed : 

"  How  violent  is  this  disorder !  How  very  extraordinary 
it  is!" 

After  this  he  lapsed  into  an  unconscious  condition,  and 
while  in  this  state  his  naked  soul  passed  into  the  presence- 
chamber  of  that  Infinite  One  whose  worship  it  had  neg- 
lected, and  whose  existence  it  had  boldly  denied. 

Thus  ended  that  busy  life,  which  began  in  poverty,  and 
which  had  yielded  its  possessor  a  fortune  of  ten  millions  of 


STEPHEN  GIRARD.  211 

dollars.  Surely,  if  wealth  and  the  power  it  wields  be  the 
real  crown  of  life,  Stephen  Girard  must  be  accorded  high 
rank  among  the  mighty  men  who  win  magnificent  victories 
over  the  adverse  circumstances  of  an  obscure  birth.  He 
sought  riches,  not  as  a  miser  who  gloats  with  low  delight 
over  his  glittering  gold,  but  as  a  man  ambitious  to  make 
his  name  imperishable.  His  ambition  was  satisfied.  His 
ten  millions,  invested  as  directed  in  his  will,  which  is  itself 
a  marvel  of  worldly  wisdom,  is  accomplishing  his  life-long 
desire.  So  far  as  human  foresight  can  perceive,  Girard 
College  will  keep  the  name  of  this  wonderful  man  before 
the  eyes  of  men  through  the  coming  ages. 

Nevertheless,  we  count  this  victor  over  the  mighty  ob- 
stacles which  stand  between  a  penniless  cabin-boy  and  the 
ownership  of  millions  a  vanquished  man.  Bringing  his  life 
into  the  "  light  of  the  glory  of  God  which  shines  from  the 
face  of  Jesus  Christ,"  we  are  compelled  to  pronounce  it  a 
miserable  failure.  We  do  not  find  either  Christian  faith  or 
Christian  morality  in  it.  As  to  faith,  he  had  none;  for  he 
was  an  atheist,  and  gloried  in  his  disbelief  of  all  revealed 
truth.  As  to  morality,  his  biographer  informs  us  that  he  was 
an  unchaste,  profane,  passionate,  arbitrary,  ungenerous,  un- 
loving man.  His  apparent  philanthropy  was  so  veined  with 
selfishness  that  it  was  rarely  ever  exhibited  except  under 
conditions  which  secured  publicity.  And  even  the  college 
which  perpetuates  his  name  proclaims,  by  its  prohibition  of 
religious  instruction,  his  hatred  of  "the  only  name  given 
under  heaven  among  men  whereby  we  can  be  saved."  It 
is  true  that  his  will  enjoins  instruction  in  morals ;  but  it  is 
heathen,  not  Christian,  morality  that  he  intended;  and,  if 
the  letter  and  spirit  of  his  remarkable  will  were  strictly 
carried  out,  the  graduates  of  Girard  College  would  leave  its 
walls  as  ill  instructed  in  the  principles  of  genuine  morality 


212  SHAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

as  were  the  disciples  of  Socrates  or  the  followers  of  Confu- 
cius. The  only  roots  on  which  pure  morals  can  grow  are 
faith  in  our  heavenly  Father  and  his  divine  Son,  and  love 
which  is  born  of  that  precious  faith.  That  faith  is  forbid- 
den to  be  taught,  and  its  divinely  ordained  teachers  are 
prohibited  entrance  within  the  walls  his  unsanctified  ambition 
built.  Happily  for  the  orphan  boys  who  congregate  there, 
the  spirit  of  that  autichristian  will  can  not  be  executed  in 
this  Christian  country.  Its  letter  is  no  doubt  respected; 
but  the  ethics  of  the  institution  are  not  those  of  Voltaire, 
Rousseau,  or  Confucius,  but  of  Jesus,  whose  life  is  the  only 
"  light  of  men."  Hence,  while  his  college  may  perpetuate 
his  name,  it  will  never  cause  mankind  to  love  his  character, 
nor  to  hope  that  he  is  one  of  that  exalted  host  which  as- 
cended to  heaven  through  much  tribulation,  and  after  wash- 
ing their  robes  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. — DR.  WISE,  in 
"Victors  Vanquished"  Cranston  &  Stowe,  Cincinnati. 


XXIV. 


PLEASURE  AFTER  PAIN— PAIN  AFTER  PLEASURE. 


UR  illusions  commence  in  the  cradle,  and  end  only 
in  the  grave.  We  have  all  great  expectations. 
Our  ducks  are  ever  to  be  geese,  our  geese  swans; 
and  we  can  not  bear  the  truth  when  it  comes  upon 
us.  Hence  our  disappointments;  hence  Solomon  cried  out 
that  all  was  vanity,  that  he  had  tried  every  thing,  each 
pleasure,  each  beauty,  and  found  it  very  empty.  People,  he 
writes,  should  be  taught  by  my  example ;  they  can  not  go 
beyond  me — "What  can  he  do  that  comes  after  the  king?" 
It  is  very  doubtful  whether,  to  an  untried  or  a  young 
man,  the  warnings  of  Solomon,  or  the  outpourings  of  that 
griefful  prophet  whose  name  now  passes  for  a  lamentation, 
have  done  much  good.  Hope  balances  caution,  and  "  springs 
eternal  in  the  human  breast."  The  old  man  fails,  but  the  young 
constantly  fancies  he  shall  succeed.  "Solomon,"  he  cries, 
"  did  not  know  every  thing;"  but  in  a  few  years  his  own  dis- 
appointments tell  him  how  true  the  king's  words  are,  and  he 
cherishes  the  experience  he  has  bought.  But  experience  does 
not  serve  him  in  every  case ;  it  has  been  said  that  it  is  sim- 
ply like  the  stern-lights  of  a  ship,  which  lighten  the  path  she 
has  passed  over,  but  not  that  which  she  is  about  to  traverse. 
To  know  one's  self  is  the  hardest  lesson  we  can  learn.  Few 
of  us  ever  realize  our  true  position ;  few  see  that  they  are 
like  Bunyan's  hero  in  the  midst  of  Vanity  Fair,  and  that  all 
about  them  are  snares,  illusions,  painted  shows,  real  troubles, 
and  true  miseries,  many  trials  and  few  enjoyments. 

213 


214  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Perhaps  the  bitterest  feelings  in  our  life  are  those  which 
we  experience,  when  boys  and  girls,  at  the  failures  of  our 
friendships  and  our  loves.  We  have  heard  of  false  friends ; 
we  have  read  of  deceit  in  books ;  but  we  know  nothing  about 
it,  and  we  hardly  believe  what  we  hear.  Our  friend  is  to  be 
true  as  steel.  He  is  always  to  like  us,  and  we  him.  He 
is  a  second  Damon,  we  a  Pythias.  We  remember  the  fond 
old  stories  of  celebrated  friendships;  how  one  shared  his 
fortune,  another  gave  his  life.  Our  friend  is  just  of  that 
sort;  he  is  noble,  true,  grand,  heroic.  Of  course,  he  is 
wonderfully  generous.  We  talk  of  him;  he  will  praise  us. 
The  whole  people  around,  who  laugh  at  the  sudden  warmth, 
we  regard  as  old  fogies,  who  do  not  understand  life  half  as 
well  as  we  do.  But  by  and  by  our  friend  vanishes ;  the 
image  which  we  thought  was  gold  we  find  made  of  mere 
clay.  We  grow  melancholy  ;  we  are  fond  of  reading  Byron's 
poetry ;  the  sun  is  not  nearly  so  bright  nor  the  sky  so  blue 
as  it  used  to  be.  We  sing,  with  the  noble  poet — 

"  My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf, 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone ; 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone. !" 

We  cease  to  believe  in  friendship ;  we  quote  old  saws,  and 
fancy  ourselves  cruelly  used.  We  think  ourselves  philoso- 
phic martyrs,  when  the  simple  truth  is,  that  we  are  disap- 
pointed. 

The  major  part  of  the  misery  in  marriage  arises  from  the 
false  estimate  which  we  make  of  married  happiness.  A 
young  man,  who  is  a  pure  and  good  one,  when  he  starts  in 
life  is  very  apt  to  fancy  all  women  angels.  He  loves  and 
venerates  his  mother;  he  believes  her  better,  purer  far,  than 
his  father,  because  his  school-days  have  taught  him  practi- 


DISAPPOINTMENTS.  "21 5 

cally  what  men  are ;  but  he  does  not  yet  know  what  women 
are.  His  sisters  are  angels  too,  and  the  wife  he  is  about  to 
marry,  the  best,  the  purest  woman  in  the  world,  also  an 
angel,  of  course.  Marriage  soon  opens  his  eyes.  It  would 
be  out  of  the  course  of  nature  for  every  body  to  secure  an  angel ; 
and  the  young  husband  finds  that  he  has  married  a  woman 
of  the  ordinary  pattern — not  a  whit  better  on  the  whole  than 
man  ;  perhaps  worse,  because  weaker.  The  high-flown  senti- 
ment is  all  gone,  the  romantic  ideas  fade  down  to  the  light 
of  common  day.  "  The  bloom  of  young  desire,  the  purple 
light  of  love,"  as  Milton  writes  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
lines  ever  penned,  too  often  pass  away  as  well,  and  a  future 
of  misery  is  opened  up  on  the  basis  of  disappointment.  After 
all,  the  difficulty  to  be  got  over  is  this — how  is  mankind  to 
be  taught  to  take  a  just  estimate  of  things?  Is  it  possible 
to  put  old  heads  upon  young  shoulders  ?  Is  not  youth  a  per- 
petual state  of  intoxication  ?  Is  not  every  thing  better  and 
brighter  far  then  than  in  middle  life?  These  are  the  ques- 
tions to  be  solved,  and  once  solved  we  shall  be  happy ;  we 
shall  have  learnt  the  great  lesson,  that  whatever  is,  is  or- 
dained by  a  great  and  wise  power,  and  that  we  are  there- 
with to  be  content. 

A  kindly  consideration  for  others  is  the  best  method  in 
the  world  to  adopt,  to  ease  off  our  own  troubles ;  and  this 
consideration  is  to  be  cultivated  very  easily.  There  is  not 
one  of  those  who  will  take  up  this  book  who  is  perfectly 
happy,  and  not  one  who  does  not  fancy  that  he  or  she  might 
be  very  much  better  off.  Perhaps  ten  out  of  every  dozen 
have  been  disappointed  in  life.  They  are  not  precisely  what 
they  should  be.  The  wise  poor  man,  in  spite  of  his  wisdom, 
envies  the  rich  fool ;  and  the  fool — if  he  has  any  apprecia- 
tion— envies  the  wisdom  of  the  other.  One  is  too  tall,  the 
other  is  too  short ;  ill-health  plagues  a  third,  and  a  bad  wife 


216  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

a  fourth ;  and  so  on.  Yet  there  is  not  one  of  the  sorrows  or 
troubles  that  we  have  but  might  be  reasoned  away.  The 
short  man  can  not  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature ;  but  he  may 
think,  after  all,  that  many  great  heroes  have  been  short,  and 
that  it  is  the  mind,  not  the  form,  that  makes  the  man. 
Napoleon  the  Great,  who  had  high-heeled  boots,  and  was, 
to  be  sure,  hardly  a  giant  in  stature,  once  looked  at  a  picture 
of  Alexander,  by  David.  "  Ah  !"  said  he,  taking  snuff,  with 
a  pleased  air,  "  Alexander  was  shorter  than  I."  The  hero 
last  mentioned  is  he  who  cried  because  he  had  no  more 
worlds  to  conquer,  and  who  never  thought  of  conquering 
himself.  But  if  Alexander  were  disappointed  about  another 
world,  his  courtiers  were  much  more  so  because  they  were 
not  Alexanders.  But  the  world  would  not  have  cared  for  a 
surplus  of  them;  one  was  enough.  Conquerers  are  very 
pleasant  fellows,  no  doubt,  and  are  disappointed  and  sulky 
because  they  can  not  gain  more  battles ;  but  we  poor  frogs 
in  the  world  are  quite  satisfied  with  one  King  Stork. 

If  we  look  at  a  disappointment  as  a  lesson,  we  soon  take 
the  sting  out  of  it.  A  spider  will  teach  us  that.  He  is 
watching  for  a  fly,  and  away  the  nimble  fellow  flies.  The 
spider  upon  this  runs  round  his  net  to  see  whether  there  be 
any  holes,  and  to  mend  them.  When  doing  so,  he  comes 
upon  an  old  body  of  one  of  his  victims,  and  he  commences 
again  on  it,  with  a  pious  ejaculation  of  "Better  luck  next 
time."  So  one  of  the  greatest  and  wisest  missionaries  whom 
we  have  ever  had,  tried,  when  a  boy,  to  climb  a  tree.  He 
fell  down,  and  broke  his  leg.  Seriously  lamed,  he  went  on 
crutches  for  six  months,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  quietly 
set  about  climbing  the  tree  again,  and  succeeded.  He  had, 
in  truth,  a  reserve  fund  of  good-humor  and  sound  sense, 
saw  where  he  failed,  and  conquered  it.  His  disappointment 
was  worth  twenty  dozen  successes  to  him,  and  to  the  world 


DISAPPOINTMENTS.  217 

too.  It  is  a  good  rule,  also,  never  to  make  too  sure  of  any 
thing,  and  never  to  put  too  high  a  price  on  it.  Every  thing 
is  worth  doing  well ;  every  thing,  presuming  you  like  it,  is 
worth  having.  The  girl  you  fall  in  love  with  may  be  silly 
and  ill-favored;  but  what  of  that?  she  is  your  love.  "'Tis 
a  poor  fancy  of  mine  own  to  like  that  which  none  other  man 
will  have,"  says  the  fool  Touchstone ;  but  he  speaks  like  a  wise 
man.  He  is  wiser  than  the  melancholy  Jacques  in  the  same 
play,  who  calls  all  people  fools,  and  mopes  about  preaching 
wise  saws.  If  our  young  men  were  as  wise,  there  would  not 
be  half  the  ill-assorted  marriages  in  the  world,  and  there 
would  be  fewer  single  women.  If  they  only  chose  by  sense 
or  fancy,  or  because  they  saw  some  good  quality  in  a  girl — 
if  they  were  not  all  captivated  by  the  face  alone,  every  Jill 
would  have  her  Jack,  and  pair  off  happily,  like  the  lovers 
in  a  comedy.  But  it  is  not  so.  We  can  not  live  without 
illusions ;  we  can  not,  therefore,  subsist  without  disappoint- 
ments. They,  too,  follow  each  other  as  the  night  the  day, 
the  shade  the  sunshine;  they  are  as  inseparable  as  life  and 
death. 

The  difference  of  our  conditions  alone  places  a  variety  in 
these  illusions ;  perhaps  the  lowest  of  us  have  the  brightest, 
just  as  Cinderella,  sitting  amongst  the  coals,  dreamed  of  the 
ball  and  beautiful  prince  as  well  as  her  sisters.  "  Bare  and 
grim  to  tears,"  says  Emerson,  "  is  the  lot  of  the  children  I 
saw  yesterday ;  yet  not  the  less  they  hung  it  round  with  frip- 
pery romance,  like  the  children  of  the  happiest  fortune,  and 
would  talk  of  l  the  dear  cottage  where  so  many  joyful  hours 
had  flown/  Well,  this  thatching  of  hovels  is  the  custom  of 
the  country.  Women,  more  than  all,  are  the  element  and 
kingdom  of  illusion."  Happy  is  it  that  they  are  so.  These 
fancies  and  illusions  bring  forth  the  inevitable  disappoint- 
ments, but  they  carry  life  on  with  a  swing.  If  every  hovel- 


218  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

born  child  had  sat  down  at  his  door-step,  and  taken  true 
stock  of  himself,  and  had  said,  "I  am  a  poor  miserable 
child,  weak  in  health,  without  knowledge,  with  little  help, 
and  can  not  do  much,"  we  should  have  wanted  many  a  hero. 
We  should  have  had  no  Stephenson,  no  Faraday,  no  Ark- 
wright,  and  no  Watt.  Our  railways  would  have  been  un- 
built, and  the  Atlantic  Ocean  would  have  been  unbridged 
by  steam.  But  hope,  as  phrenologists  tells  us,  lies  above 
caution,  and  has  dangerous  and  active  neighbors — wit,  imag- 
ination, language,  ideality — so  the  poor  cottage  is  hung  round 
with  fancies,  and  the  man  exists  to  help  his  fellows.  He 
may  fail ;  but  others  take  up  his  tangled  thread,  and  unravel 
it,  and  carry  on  the  great  business  of  life. 

The  constantly  cheerful  man,  who  survives  his  blighted 
hopes  and  disappointments,  who  takes  them  just  for  what 
they  are — lessons,  and  perhaps  blessings  in  disguise — is  the 
true  hero.  He  is  like  a  strong  swimmer;  the  waves  dash 
over  him,  but  he  is  never  submerged.  We  can  not  help  ap- 
plauding and  admiring  such  a  man ;  and  the  world,  good- 
natured  and  wise  in  its  verdict,  cheers  him  when  he  gains 
the  goal.  There  may  be  brutality  in  the  sport,  but  there  can 
be  no  question  as  to  the  merit,  when  the  smaller  prize- 
fighter, who  receives  again  and  again  his  adversary's  knock- 
down blow,  again  gets  up  and  is  ready  for  the  fray.  Old 
General  Blucher  was  not  a  lucky  general.  He  was  beaten 
almost  every  time  he  ventured  to  battle ;  but  in  an  incredible 
space  of  time  he  had  gathered  together  his  routed  army,  and 
was  as  formidable  as  before.  The  Germans  liked  the  bold 
old  fellow,  and  called,  and  still  call  him,  Marshal  Forwards. 
He  had  his  disappointments,  no  doubt,  but  turned  them, 
like  the  oyster  does  the  speck  of  sand  which  annoys  it,  to 
a  pearl.  To  our  minds,  the  best  of  all  these  heroes  is  Robert 
Hall,  the  preacher,  who,  after  falling  on  the  ground  in 


DISAPPOINTMENTS.  219 

paroxysms  of  pain,  would  rise  with  a  smile,  and  say,  "  I 
suffered  much,  but  I  did  not  cry  out,  did  I?  did  I  cry  out?" 
Beautiful  is  this  heroism.  Nature,  base  enough  under  some 
aspects,  rises  into  grandeur  in  such  an  example,  and  shoots 
upwards  to  an  Alpine  height  of  pure  air  and  cloudless  sun- 
shine ;  the  bold,  noble,  and  kindly  nature  of  the  man, 
struggling  against  pain,  and  asking,  in  an  apologetic  tone, 
"  Did  I  cry  out  ?"  whilst  his  lips  were  white  with  anguish, 
and  his  tongue,  bitten  through  in  the  paroxysm,  was  red 
with  blood ! 

There  is  a  companion  picture  of  ineffaceable  grandeur  to 
this  in  Plato's  "Phredo,"  where  Socrates,  who  has  been  un- 
chained simply  that  he  may  prepare  for  death,  sits  upon  his 
bed,  and,  rubbing  his  leg  gently  where  the  iron  had  galled 
it,  begins,  not  a  complaint  against  fate,  or  his  judges,  or  the 
misery  of  present  death,  but  a  grateful  little  reflection. 
"  What  an  unaccountable  thing,  my  friends,  that  seems  to  be 
which  men  call  pleasure ;  and  how  wonderful  it  is  related  to 
that  which  appears  to  be  its  contrary — pain,  in  that  they 
will  not  both  be  present  to  a  man  at  the  same  time;  yet  if 
any  one  pursues  and  attains  the  one,  he  is  almost  always 
compelled  to  receive  the  other,  as  if  they  were  both  united 
together  from  one  head."  Surely  true  philosophy,  if  we 
may  call  so  serene  a  state  of  mind  by  that  hackneyed  word, 
never  reached,  unaided,  a  purer  height ! 

There  is  one  thing  certain,  which  contains  a  poor  com- 
fort, but  a  strong  one — a  poor  one,  because  it  reduces  us  all 
to  the  same  level — it  is  this :  we  may  be  sure  that  not  one 
of  us  is  Avithout  disappointment.  The  footman  is  as  badly 
off  as  his  master,  and  the  master  as  the  footman.  The 
courtier  is  disappointed  of  his  place,  and  the  minister  of  his 
ambition.  Cardinal  Wolsey  lectures  his  secretary  Cromwell, 
and  tells  him  of  his  disappointed  ambition ;  but  Cromwell 


220  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

had  his  troubles  as  well.  Henry  the  Eighth,  the  king  who 
broke  them  both,  might  have  put  up  the  same  prayer;  and 
the  pope,  who  was  a  thorn  in  Harry's  side,  no  doubt  had  a 
peck  of  disappointments  of  his  own.  Nature  not  only 
abhors  a  vacuum,  but  she  utterly  repudiates  an  entirely  suc- 
cessful man.  There  probably  never  lived  one  yet  to  whom 
the  morning  did  not  bring  some  disaster,  the  evening  some 
repulse.  John  Hunter,  the  greatest,  most  successful  surgeon, 
the  genius,  the  wonder,  the  admired  of  all,  upon  whose 
words  they  whose  lives  had  been  spent  in  science  hung,  said, 
as  he  went  to  his  last  lecture,  "  If  I  quarrel  with  any  one 
to-night,  it  will  kill  me."  An  obstinate  surgeon  of  the  old 
school  denied  one  of  his  assertions,  and  called  him  a  liar. 
It  was  enough.  Hunter  was  carried  into  the  next  room, 
and  died.  He  had  for  years  suffered  from  a  diseased  heart, 
and  was  quite  conscious  of  his  fate.  That  was  his  disap- 
pointment. Happy  are  they  who,  in  this  world  of  trial, 
meet  their  disappointments  in  their  youth,  not  in  their  old 
age;  then  let  them  come  and  welcome,  not  too  thick  to 
render  us  morose,  but  like  Spring  mornings,  frosty  but 
kindly,  the  cold  of  which  will  kill  the  vermin,  but  will  let 
the  plant  live ;  and  let  us  rely  upon  it,  that  the  best  men  (and 
women,  too)  are  those  who  have  been  early  disappointed. 


XXV. 

THREE 

AN  OLD  STORY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT. 


CASPAR,  a  king  and  shepherd, 
Alone  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 

Thus  mused,  his  eyes  uplifted 
And  fixed  on  the  firmament: 

"Is  it  a  dream,  this  vision 

That  haunts  me  day  and  night, 
This  beautiful  manifestation 
Of  some  eternal  delight? 

God  set  me  to  watching  and  waiting 
Long  years  and  years  ago, 

Waiting  and  watching  for  something 
My  heart  could  not  forego. 

I  caught  the  hope  of  the  nations, 
The  desire  of  the  common  heart, 

Which  grew  to  an  expectation 
That  would  not  from  me  depart. 

My  soul  was  filled  with  hunger 

Deeper  than  I  can  tell, 
The  while  I  watched  for  the  shining 

Of  the  Star  in  Israel. 

O  Star,  to  arise  in  Jacob ! 

I  cried  as  my  heart  grew  bold ; 
O  Star,  to  arise  in  Jacob, 

By  prophecy  seen  of  old! 


221 


222  BRAVE   MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

For  the  sight  of  Thee  I  am  dying, 
»  For  the  joy  of  Thy  Beautiful  Face  ! 

Of  Thy  coming  give  me  a  token, 
Grant  me  this  favor  and  grace ! 

At  length  there  came  an  answer 
Flaming  the  desolate  year, 

A  revelation  of  beauty, 
A  more  than  mortal  cheer ; 

For  afar  in  the  kindly  heavens 
The  blessed  token  I  saw! 

And  now  my  life  is  transfigured, 
And  lost  in  a  nameless  awe. 

In  a  nameless  awe  I  wander, 
As  one  with  a  joy  untold, 

Too  great  for  his  own  defining, 
Too  great  for  him  to  withhold. 

But  deep  in  my  heart  is  the  secret, 
And  in  yonder  beckoning  Star ; 

And  I  must  wait  for  the  telling 
Until  I  can  hasten  afar, — 

Until  I  can  find  in  travel 
A  heart  akin  to  mine, 

That  day  and  night  is  adoring 
And  imploring  beauty  divine. 

And  so  I  will  share  the  gladness 
Which  God  intends  for  the  world ; 

And  so  will  I  lift  the  banner, 
To  remain  forever  unfurled." 

Hardly  had  Gaspar  ended 
The  musing  he  loved  so  well, 

When  he  heard  the  dreamy  tinkle 
Of  a  distant  camel-bell. 


THE  THREE  KINGS.  223 

He  set  his  tent  in  order; 

He  brought  forth  of  his  best, 
After  the  Arab  custom, 

To  welcome  the  coming  guest. 

Who  is  this  eager  stranger 

Dismounted  so  soon  at  the  door? 
A  king  from  another  kingdom, 

Who  has  traveled  the  desert  o'er, 

In  search  of  the  same  communion 

That  Gaspar  was  longing  for. 
And  before  of  food  ha»  tasted, 

Thus  spake  King  Melchior : 

"  O  Gaspar,  God  hath  sent  me 

In  the  light  of  a  peaceful  Star, 
To  tell  thee,  my  royal  brother, 
What  my  sweet  communiugs  are. 

My  life  has  been  hid  with  Nature 

For  many  a  quiet  year, 
And  in  the  hearts  of  my  people, 

Whose  love  hath  cast  out  fear. 

And  I  have  been  a  dweller 

With  God,  who  is  everywhere, 
On  earth,  in  the  stars,  the  Spirit         , 

Sublimest,  calmest,  most  fair. 

Among  his  mediators 

And  messengers  of  rest, 
Which  fill  the  earth  and  the  heavens, 

The  stars  I  reckoned  the  best. 

To  the  stars  I  gave  my  study, 

I  watched  them  rise  and  set, 
And  heard  the  music  of  silence 

My  soul  can  not  forget ; — 


224  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

The  music  that  seemed  prophetic 
Of  the  reign  of  peace  to  come, 

When  men  shall  live  as  lovers 
In  the  quiet  of  one  dear  home. 

But  contemplation  only 
My  heart  could  not  satisfy: 

I  longed  for  the  very  presence 
The  stars  did  prophesy, 

And  eagerly  looked  for  a  token 
Of  heaven  descended  to  earth, 

A  manifestation  to  tell  me 

The  Prince  had  come  to  his  birth — 

The  Prince  to  rule  the  nations, 
The  blessed  Prince  of  Peace, 

Through  the  scepter  of  whose  kingdom 
Confusion  and  war  shall  cease. 

And  God  to  me  has  been  gracious, 
Though  one  of  his  children  the  least, 

For  I  have  seen  his  token 
All  glorious  in  the  east. 

Yea,  God  to  me  has  been  gracious, 
And  shown  me  the  way  of  love, 

A  revelation  of  goodness 
As  fair  as  heaven  above." 

The  kings  sat  down  together, 

Communed  in  the  breaking  of  bread, 

And  each  the  heart  of  the  other 
As  an  open  volume  read. 

•They  felt  the  new  force  within  them 

Through  fellowship  increase: 
The  one  he  called  it  beauty, 
The  other  named  it  peace. 


THE  THREE  KINGS.  225 

All  through  the  silent  night-tide 

Their  thoughts  one  burden  bore: 
There  was  a  joy  eternal 

Their  longing  souls  before. 

But  still  they  waited,  waited, 
They  hardly  knew  what  for. 
"What  lack  we  yet,  O  Gaspar!" 
.At  length  asked  Melchior. 

"Three  lights  in  yonder  heaven 

Wait  on  the  polar  star. 
Hast  eyes  to  read  the  poem? 
Dost  see  how  calm  they  are  ? 

Tliree  lights  in  yonder  heaven 

Wait  on  the  polar  star ; 
But  we  are  two"  said  Gaspar. 
"Not  two,  but  three  we  are," 

Belthazzar  said,  dismounting, 

Another  king  from  far ; 
"And  we  whom  God  hath  chosen 
Follow  a  greater  Star. 

O,  what  are  peace  and  beauty, 

Except  they  stir  the  soul 
And  make  the  man  a  hero, 

To  gain  some  happier  goal? 

O,  what  are  peace  and  beauty 

That  stop  this  side  of  God, 
Though  infinite  the  distance 

Remaining  to  be  trod?" 

In  haste,  in  haste  they  mounted, 

The  kings  in  God's  employ, 
And  quickly  peace  and  beauty 

Began  to  change  to  joy. 
15 


226  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

They  left  behind  their  kingdoms 
Whose  lure  was  far  too  small, 

To  keep  them  apart  from  the  kingdom 
Of  Him  who  is  all  in  all. 

They  left  behind  their  people, 
Of  loving  and  loved  a  host, 

The  first  of  the  thronging  Gentiles, 
To  love  the  Redeemer  most. 

They  left  behind  possessions, 
Their  flocks  in  all  their  prime, 

In  haste  to  greet  the  Shepherd 

Whose  charge  is  the  most  sublime. 

They  passed  through  hostile  regions ; 

For  fear  they  halted  not; 
And  weariness  and  hunger 

Were  less  than  things  forgot. 

So  on  and  on  they  hastened 

Where  they  never  before  had  trod, 

And  the  flaming  Guide  that  led  them, 
Was  ever  the  Glory  of  God. 

By  night  in  yonder  heavens, 
Within  their  hearts  by  day, 

As  of  old  the  blessed  Shekinah 
Along  the  Red  Sea  way. 

And  they  have  troubled  Herod 

And  left  Jerusalem, 
The  joy-giving  Star  before  them, 

The  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

And  they  have  seen  and  worshiped 
The  Everlasting  Child, 

In  whom  sweet  Truth  and  Mercy 
Were  never  unreconciled. 


THE  THREE  KINGS.  227 

They  have  kissed  the  Beauty  of  Heaven, 

Incarnate  on  the  earth, 
The  Babe  in  the  lap  of  Mary, 

Of  whom  He  came  to  his  birth. 

Their  gifts  of  love  they  have  rendered 

Unto  the  new-born  King, 
Their  gold  and  myrrh  and  frankincense, 

The  best  that  they  could  bring. 

And  vanished  the  Star  forever, 

When  they  turned  from  the  Child  away? 

Shone  it  not  then  in  their  bosoms, 
The  light  of  Eternal  Day? 

They  could  not  return  to  Herod — 

Too  precious  for  any  swine, 
The  pearls  which  they  had  gathered 

Out  of  the  Sea  Divine ! 

O  Vision  of  the  Redeemer, 

In  which  faith  has  struggled  to  sight ! 
They  carried  it  back  to  their  country, 

And  published  it  day  and  night. 

They  carried  it  back  to  their  country, 

The  vision  since  Eden's  fall, 
Which  seen  afar  off  has  sweetened 

The  wormwood  and  the  gall. 

And  it  has  become  the  story 

Of  every  triumphant  soul, 
That  in  seeking  the  Eternal 

Beaches  a  blessed  goal. 


XXVI. 

FL0REflGE 


THE  HEROINE  OF  THE  CRIMEA. 


HE  care  of  the  poor,"  said  Hannah  More,  herself 
one  of  the  most  illustrious  women  of  her  time, 
"  is  essentially  the  profession  of  women."  In  her 
own  person,  Florence  Nightingale  has  proved  this; 
and  not  in  one  or  two  cases,  but  by  a  whole  life  passed 
in  devotion  to  the  needs  of  the  poor  and  humble,  the  sick 
and  the  distressed.  Comparatively  little  was  known  of  Miss 
Nightingale  before  the  year  1854,  when  the  needs  of  the 
English  army  in  the  Crimea  called  forth  the  heroism  of 
thousands.  Then  it  was  that  Florence  Nightingale  and  other 
heroic  women  went  out  to  the  East,  and  personally  succored 
the  wounded,  comforted  the  weak-hearted,  and  smoothed 
the  pillows  of  the  dying. 

Miss  Nightingale  is  every  way  a  remarkable  woman. 
The  daughter  of  an  Englishman,  W.  Shore  Nightingale,  of 
Embly  Park,  Hampshire,  she  was  born  in  Florence,  in  the 
year  1823,  and  from  this  fair  city  she  received  her  patro- 
nymic. From  her  earliest  youth  she  was  accustomed  to  visit 
the  poor,  and,  as  she  advanced  in  years,  she  studied  in  the 
schools,  hospitals,  and  reformatory  institutions  of  London, 
Edinburgh,  and  other  principal  cities  of  England,  besides 
making  herself  familiar  with  similar  places  on  the  Continent. 
In  1851,  "when  all  Europe,"  says  a  recent  writer,  "seemed 
to  be  keeping  holiday  in  honor  of  the  Great  Exhibition? 
she  took  up  her  abode  in  an  institution  at  Kaiserwerth,  on 
the  Rhine,  where  Protestant  sisters  of  mercy  are  trained  for 
228 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  229 

the  business  of  nursing  the-  sick,  and  other  offices  of  char- 
ity. For  three  months  she  remained  in  daily  and  nightly 
attendance,  accumulating  the  most  valuable  practical  expe- 
rience, and  then  returned  home  to  patiently  wait  until  an 
occasion  should  arise  for  its  exercise.  This  occasion  soon 
arose;  for,  after  attending  various  hospitals  in  London,  the 
cry  of  distress  which,  in  1854,  arose  from  the  distressed  sol- 
diery in  Russia,  enlisted  her  warmest  sympathies.  Lady 
Mary  Forester,  Mrs.  Sidney  Herbert,  and  other  ladies,  pro- 
posed to  send  nurses  to  the  seat  of  war.  The  government 
acceded  to  their  request,  and  Miss  Florence  Nightingale, 
Mrs.  Bracebridge,  and  thirty-seven  others,  all  experienced 
nurses,  went  out  to  their  assistance,  and  arrived  at  Constan- 
tinople on  the  5th  of  November.  The  whole  party  were 
soon  established  in  the  hospital  at  Scutari,  and  there  pur- 
sued their  labor  of  love  and  benevolence.  The  good  they 
did,  and  the  wonders  they  accomplished,  are  too  well  known 
to  need  particular  detail.  "  Every  day,"  says  one,  writing 
from  the  military  hospital,  "  brought  some  new  combination 
of  misery  to  be  somehow  unraveled  by  the  power  ruling  in 
the  sisters'  town.  Each  day  had  its  peculiar  trial  to  one 
who  has  taken  such  a  load  of  responsibility  in  an  untried 
field,  and  with  a  staff  of  her  own  sex,  all  new  to  it.  She 
has  frequently  been  known  to  stand  twenty  hours,  on  the 
arrival  of  fresh  detachments  of  sick,  apportioning  quarters, 
distributing  stores,  directing  the  labors  of  her  corps,  assist- 
ing at  the  most  painful  operations,  where  her  presence  might 
soothe  or  support,  and  spending  hours  over  men  dying  of 
cholera  or  fever.  Indeed,  the  more  awful  to  every  sense 
any  particular  case  might  be,  the  more  certainly  might  her 
slight  form  be  seen  bending  over  him,  administering  to  his 
case  by  every  means  in  her  power,  and  seldom  quitting  his 
side  until  death  had  released  him.  And  yet,  probably,  Miss 


230  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Nightingale's  personal  devotion  in  the  cause  was,  in  her  own 
estimation,  the  least  onerous  of  her  duties.  The  difficulties 
thrown  in  her  way  by  the  formalities  of  system  and  routine,  and 
the  prejudices  of  individuals,  will  scarcely  be  forgotten,  or  the 
daily  contests  by  which  she  was  compelled  to  wring  from 
the  authorities  a  scant  allowance  of  the  appliances  needed  in 
the  daily  offices  of  her  hand,  until  the  co-operation  of  Mr. 
Macdouald,  the  distributor  of  the  Times  fund,  enabled  her 
to  lay  in  stores,  to  institute  separate  culinary  and  washing 
establishments,  and,  in  short,  to  introduce  comfort  and  order 
into  the  department  over  which  she  presided."  And  so, 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  momentous  campaign,  she  did 
the  work  that  she  had  set  out  to  do,  bravely  and  faithfully, 
and  earnestly  and  well ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  on  her  return 
to  England  she  was  welcomed  gladly.  The  queen  presented 
her  with  a  costly  diamond  ornament,  to  be  worn  as  a  decora- 
tion, and  accompanied  it  with  an  autograph  letter,  in  which 
her  great  merits  were  fully,  gracefully,  and  gratefully  ac- 
knowledged. It  was  proposed  to  give  Miss  Nightingale  a 
public  reception ;  but,  with  true  modesty,  she  shrunk  from 
appearing  in  any  other  than  her  own  character  of  nurse  and 
soother,  and  at  once  passed  into  retirement.  But  that  re- 
tirement was  not  allowed  to  be  unproductive.  So  soon  as 
her  health,  which  was  at  all  times  delicate,  and  had  suffered 
considerably  in  the  Crimea,  had  been  somewhat  restored, 
she  set  to  work  to  render  the  fruits  of  her  experience  useful 
to  the  world.  In  1859  she  produced  her  "Hints  on  Nurs- 
ing," one  of  the  most  useful  and  practical  little  books  ever 
published.  In  it  she  showed  how  much  might  be  done,  even 
with  small  means,  and  in  the  midst  of  manifold  difficulties 
and  discouragements ;  and  it  is  no  small  triumph  to  the  ad- 
vocates of  female  labor,  in  proper  spheres,  that  Florence 
Nightingale  and  her  friends  have  shown  that,  as  a  nurse 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  231 

and  comforter  on  the  field  of  battle,  woman  may  work  out 
her  mission  quietly  and  unostentatiously,  without,  at  the  same 
time,  interfering  with  the  occupations  of  the  other  sex. 
In  Florence  Nightingale  we  have  an  example  of  a  lady 
bred  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  educated  in  the  school 
of  wealth  and  exclusiveness,  breaking  down  the  barriers  of 
custom,  and  proving  to  the  world  that  true  usefulness  be- 
longs to  no  particular  rank,  age,  or  station,  but  is  the  priv- 
lege  of  all  Eve's  daughters,  and  that  any  employment  sanc- 
tified by  devotion  and  fervor  and  earnest  desire  to  do 
good  is  essentially  womanly  and  graceful,  and  fitting  alike 
to  the  inheritors  of  wealth  or  poverty. 

That  the  absence  of  feminine  influence  must  tend  to 
materialize,  to  sensualize,  and  to  harden,  must,  we  think, 
be  admitted  by  all  the  thoughtful.  Woman  is  instituted  by 
God  the  guardian  of  the  heart  as  man  is  of  the  mind. 
How  many  husbands,  sons,  and  brothers,  driven  and  driv- 
ing through  life  in  the  absorbing  excitement  of  a  profes- 
sional or  mercantile  career,  can  testify  to  the  arresting, 
reposeful,  humanizing  atmosphere  of  a  home  where  the 
wife,  mother,  or  sister  exerts  her  kindly  sway ;  and  it  is  as 
necessary  to  the  immaterial  interests  of  a  nation,  to  the 
prevention  of  the  legislative  mind  and  executive  hands  be- 
ing completely  swallowed  up  in  the  actual,  the  present, 
the  mechanical,  the  sensible,  that  some  counteracting  influ- 
ence should  be  allowed  and  encouraged  similar  to  that  of 
woman  in  her  home. 

To  show  the  influence  for  good  of  associations  of  women 
for  charitable  ends,  Mrs.  Jameson,  in  "  Sisters  of  Charity  at 
Home  and  Abroad,"  has  collected  accounts  from  history  and 
biography  of  many  Romanist  orders  of  sisters,  besides  vin- 
dicating and  putting  forward  Miss  Nightingale  and  her 
companions  as  examples.  She  would  not  for  the  world  that 


232  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  woman  should  aspire  to  be  the  man,  and  aim  at  a  mas- 
culine independence  for  which  she  was  never  meant;  and 
we  thank  the  noble  champion  of  Protestant  sisterhoods  for 
disclaiming  connection  with  any  who  want  her  to  take  part 
in  the  public  and  prominent  life  of  society,  so  to  speak.  It 
is  co-operation  that  is  insisted  upon — the  ministering  influ- 
ence of  the  woman  with  the  business  tact  of  the  man.  In 
prisons,  hospitals,  work-houses,  and  lunatic  asylums  the  in- 
fluence of  well-trained  women,  to  soften  rigor,  charm  rou- 
tine, beguile  poverty,  and  tranquilize  distraction  is  often 
wanted;  not  so  much  to  talk  as  to  think,  feel,  and  do. 

It  may  be  said  that  there  can  not  be  the  same  need  in  a 
Protestant  country  as  in  Roman  Catholic  countries  of  com- 
munities of  single  women,  where  they  are  doubtless  called 
for,  if  only  in  opposition  to  the  immense  bodies  of  the 
higher  and  lower  clergy ;  but,  besides  the  fact  of  there  al- 
ways being  a  greater  number  of  women  in  a  country  in  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  men,  our  commerce  requires  many 
sailors,  not  to  mention  our  army  and  navy,  which  in  years 
past  have  swallowed  up  so  many.  Surely,  ministering  wo- 
men would  be  a  blessing  to  the  widows  and  orphans  of  our 
gallant  soldiers  and  sailors.  There  are  numbers  of  daugh- 
ters in  large  families  kept  in  conventual  bondage  by  a 
father  or  brother  or  their  own  timidity.  Daughters,  sisters, 
widows,  we  appeal  to  you !  Are  there  not  some  few  among 
you  with  courage  to  lead  where  multitudes  would  follow — 
some  to  whom  a  kind  Providence  has  given  liberty  of 
action  ?  It  is  far  from  our  intention  to  excite  rebellion 
in  families,  or  tempt  away  from  the  manifest  calls  of  duty; 
but  can  not  some  one  begin  what  others  will  continue? 
And  we  must  not  be  indefinite:  begin  what?  continue 
what?  A  system  which,  in  this  Protestant  land,  would  give 
to  the  poor  outcast,  the  little  criminal,  the  child  of  the 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  233 

State,  a  mother  as  well  as  a  father;  that  would  give  to  the 
wretched  of  all  ages  a  sister  as  well  as  a  brother. 

Alluding  to  Florence  Nightingale,  Mrs.  Jameson  says: 
"  No  doubt  but  it  will  be  through  the  patience,  faith,  and 
wisdom  of  men  and  women  working  together.  In  an  un- 
dertaking so  wholly  new  to  our  English  customs,  so  much 
at  variance  with  the  usual  education  given  to  women  in 
this  country,  we  shall  meet  with  perplexities,  difficulties — 
even  failures.  All  the  ladies  who  have  gone  to  Scutari 
may  not  turn  out  heroines.  There  may  be  vain  babblings 
and  scribblings  and  indiscretions,  such  as  may  put  weapons 
into  adverse  hands.  The  inferior  and  paid  nurses  may, 
some  of  them,  have  carried  to  Scutari  bad  habits,  arising 
from  imperfect  training.  Still,  let  us  trust  that  a  principle 
will  be  recognized  in  the  country  which  will  not  be  again 
lost  sight  of.  It  will  be  the  true,  the  lasting  glory  of  Flor- 
ence Nightingale  and  her  band  of  devoted  assistants  that 
they  have  broken  through  what  Goethe  calls  a  Chinese  wall 
of  prejudices — prejudices  religious,  social,  professional — and 
established  a  precedent  which  will,  indeed,  multiply  the 
good  to  all  time.  No  doubt  there  are  hundreds  of  women 
who  would  now  gladly  seize  the  privileges  held  out  to  them 
by  such  an  example,  and  crowd  to  offer  their  services ;  but 
would  they  pay  the  price  of  such  dear  and  high  privileges? 
Would  they  fit  themselves  duly  for  the  performance  of  such, 
services,  and  earn  by  distasteful,  and  even  painful  studies, 
the  necessary  certificates  for  skill  and  capacity?  Would 
they,  like  Miss  Nightingale,  go  through  a  seven  years'  pro- 
bation, to  try  at  once  the  steadiness  of  their  motives  and 
the  steadiness  of  their  nerves?  Such  a  trial  is  absolutely 
necessary;  for  hundreds  of  women  will  fall  into  the  common 
error  of  mistaking  an  impulse  for  a  vocation.  But  I  do  be- 
lieve that  there  are  also  hundreds  who  are  fitted,  or  would 


234  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

gladly,  at  any  self-sacrifice,  fit  themselves  for  the  work,  if 
the  means  of  doing  so  were  allowed  to  them.  At  present, 
an  English  lady  has  no  facilities  whatever  for  obtaining  the 
information  or  experience  required ;  no  such  institutions  are 
open  to  her,  and  yet  she  is  ridiculed  for  presenting  herself 
without  the  competent  knowledge!  This  seems  hardly  just." 

Anticipating  objection,  Mrs.  Jameson  says : 

"  To  make  or  require  vows  of  obedience  is  objectionable ; 
yet  we  know  that  the  voluntary  nurses  who  went  to  the 
East  were  called  upon  to  do  what  comes  to  the  same  thing — 
to  sign  an  engagement  to  obey  implicitly  a  controlling  and 
administrative  power — or  the  whole  undertaking  must  have 
fallen  to  the  ground.  Then  again,  questions  about  costume 
have  been  mooted,  which  appear  to  me  wonderfully  absurd. 
It  has  been  suggested  that  there  should  be  something  of 
uniformity  and  fitness  .in  the  dress  when  on  duty,  and  this 
seems  but  reasonable.  I  recollect  once  seeing  a  lady  in  a 
gay,  light,  muslin  dress,  with  three  or  four  flounces,  and 
roses  under  her  bonnet,  going  forth  to  visit  her  sick  poor. 
The  incongruity  struck  the  mind  painfully — not  merely  as 
an  incongruity,  but  as  an  impropriety — like  a  soldier  going 
to  the  trenches  in  an  opera  hat  and  laced  ruffles.  Such 
follies,  arising  from  individual  obtuseness,  must  be  met  by 
regulation  dictated  by  good  sense,  and  submitted  to  as  a 
matter  of  necessity  and  obligation." 

Again,  says  our  authoress,  who  passed  from  her  sphere 
of  usefulness  in  1860: 

"  It  is  a  subject  of  reproach,  that  in  this  Christendom 
of  ours,  the  theory  of  good  we  preach  should  be  so  far  in 
advance  of  our  practice ;  but  that  which  provokes  the  sneer 
of  the  skeptic,  and  almost  kills  faith  in  the  sufferer,  lifts 
up  the  contemplative  mind  with  hope.  Man's  theory  of 
good  is  God's  reality;  man's  experience  is  the  degree  to 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  235 

i 

which  he  has  already  worked  out,  in  his  human  capacity, 
that  divine  reality.  Therefore,  whatever  our  practice  may 
be,  let  us  hold  fast  to  our  theories  of  possible  good;  let 
us,  at  least,  however  they  may  outrun  our  present  powers, 
keep  them  in  sight,  and  then  our  formal,  lagging  practice, 
may  in  time  overtake  them.  In  social  morals,  as  well  as 
in  physical  truth, '  the  goal  of  yesterday  will  be  the  starting- 
point  of  to-morrow,'  and  the  things  before  which  all  Eng- 
land now  stands  in  admiring  wonder  will  become  the 
simple  produce  of  the  common  day.  This  we  hope  and 
believe." 

The  example  of  Florence  Nightingale,  so  full  of  hope 
and  prophecy  to  Mrs.  Jameson  five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
has  proved  indeed  an  earnest  of  better  things,  which  all 
these  years  have  been  passing  into  realities.  Who  shall  say 
how  much  inspiration  the  noble  band  of  ministering  women 
in  our  civil  war  derived  from  the  heroine  of  the  Crimea? 
When  the  great  occasion  arrives,  the  heavenly  impulse  is 
seldom  wanting.  But  God  works  through  means ;  and  that 
one  example  of  Christian  devotion,  so  fresh  in  the  hearts 
of  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters,  was  an  immense  help  in 
developing  the  self-sacrifice  which  is  latent  in  every  true 
life.  To  say  nothing  of  the  new  impulse  given  to  the 
organization  of  woman's  work  in  England,  it  is  a  matter 
for  thankfulness  to  be  able  to  note  that  the  signs  of  new 
life  in  this  country  are  full  of  promise.  In  several  of  our 
large  cities,  notably  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  institu- 
tions have  recently  been  founded  for  the  training  of  nurses, 
and  sisterhoods  organized  for  the  better  accomplishment  of 
Christian  work  in  hospitals,  asylums,  and  among  the  poor 
and  unfortunate — a  work,  indeed,  which  has  been  done,  in 
one  way  or  another,  in  all  the  Christian  ages,  by  every  true 
follower  of  the  Master. 


236  2? HA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

And  here,  in  conclusion,  the  thought  suggests  itself  that 
differences  of  organization,  whether  ecclesiastical  or  other- 
wise, should  not  conceal  from  our  eyes  the  true  notes  of 
"  the  communion  of  the  saints,"  or  shut  from  our  hearts  the 
conditions  of  inheriting  the  kingdom  prepared  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world  :  "  I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave 
me  meat;  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  drink;  I  was  a 
stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in ;  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me ;  I 
was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me ;  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came 
unto  me." 

O  English  Nightingale, 

Who  hadst  the  grace  to  hear 
The  dying  soldier's  far-off  wail, 

And  pause  not  for  a  tear — 

Who,  as  on  angel  wings. 
Didst  seek  the  wintry  sea, 
To  put  thy  hand  to  menial  things, 
Which  were  not  such  to  thee ; 

And  didst,  with  heaven-born  art, 
Where  pain  implored  release, 
To  mangled  form  and  broken  heart 
Bring  healing  and  sweet  peace — 

Thy  work  was  music,  song, 
As  brave  as  ever  stirred 
A  nation's  heart ;  as  calm  and  strong 
As  angels  ever  heard  ! 

Gazing  on  the  modest,  unassuming  countenance  shown 
in  the  illustration  which  accompanies  this  sketch,  one  can 
imagine  the  surprised  question  to  which  the  King  answers 
in  the  last  day :  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of 
the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 


XXVII. 
SHY  PE0PLE. 


HAWTHORNE- WASHINGTON.  IRVING,  AND   OTHERS-MADAME 
RECAMIER. 


'YMPATHY  is  the  most  delicate  tendril  of  the 
mind,  and  the  most  fascinating  gift  which  nature 
can  give  us.  The  most  precious  associations  of 
the  human  heart  cluster  around  the  word,  and  we 
love  to  remember  those  who  have  sorrowed  with  us  in 
sorrow,  and  rejoiced  with  us  when  we  were  glad.  But  for 
the  awkward  and  the  shy  the  sympathetic  are  the  very 
worst  company.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  sympathized  with — 
they  wish  to  be  with  people  who  are  cold  and  indifferent; 
they  like  shy  people  like  themselves.  Put  two  shy  people 
in  a  room  together,  and  they  begin  to  talk  with  unaccus- 
tomed glibness.  A  shy  woman  always  attracts  a  shy  man. 
But  women  who  are  gifted  with  that  rapid,  gay  impressiona- 
bility which  puts  them  en  rapport  with  their  surroundings, 
who  have  fancy  and  an  excitable  disposition,  a  quick  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  influences  around  them,  are  very  charming 
in  general  society,  but  they  are  terrible  to  the  awkward  and 
the  shy.  They  sympathize  too  much,  they  are  too  aware  of 
that  burning  shame  which  the  sufferer  desires  to  conceal. 

The  moment  a  shy  person  sees  before  him  a  perfectly 
unsympathetic  person,  one  who  is  neither  thinking  nor  caring 
for  him,  his  shyness  begins  to  flee;  the  moment  that  he  recog- 
nizes a  fellow-sufferer  he  begins  to  feel  a  re-enforcement  of 
energy.  If  he  be  a  lover,  especially,  the  almost  certain 
embarrassment  of  the  lady  inspires  him  with  hope  and  re- 

237 


238  BRAVE  MEX  AND  WOMEN. 

newed  courage.  A  woman  who  has  a  bashful  lover,  even  if 
she  is  afflicted  with  shyness,  has  been  known  to  find  a  way 
to  help  the  poor  fellow  out  of  his  dilemma  more  than  once. 

HAWTHORNE, 

Who  has  left  us  the  most  complete  and  most  tragic  history 
of  shyness  which  belongs  to  "  that  long  rosary  on  which 
the  blushes  of  a  life  are  strung,"  found  a  woman  (the  most 
perfect  character,  apparently,  who  ever  married  and  made 
happy  a  great  genius)  who,  fortunately  for  him,  was  shy 
naturally,  although  without  that  morbid  shyness  which 
accompanied  him  through  life.  Those  who  knew  Mrs.  Haw- 
thorne found  her  possessed  of  great  fascination  of  manner, 
even  in  general  society,  where  Hawthorne  was  quite  im- 
penetrable. The  story  of  his  running  down  to  the  Concord 
River  and  taking  boat  to  escape  his  visitors  has  been  long 
familiar  to  us  all.  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  no  doubt,  with  a 
woman's  tact  and  a  woman's  generosity,  overcame  her  own 
shyness  in  order  to  receive  those  guests  whom  Hawthorne 
ran  away  from,  and  through  his  life  remained  his  better 
angel.  It  was  through  this  absence  of  expressed  sympathy 
that  English  people  became  very  agreeable  to  Hawthorne. 
He  describes,  in  his  "  Note-Book,"  a  speech  made  by  him 
at  a  dinner  in  England :  "  When  I  was  called  upon,"  he 
says,  "  I  rapped  my  head,  and  it  returned  a  hollow  sound." 
He  had,  however,  been  sitting  next  to  a  shy  English  lawyer, 
a  man  who  won  upon  him  by  his  quiet,  unobtrusive  sim- 
plicity, and  who,  in  some  well-chosen  words,  rather  made 
light  of  dinner-speaking  and  its  terrors.  When  Hawthorne 
finally  got  up  and  made  his  speech,  his  "  voice,  meantime, 
having  a  fur-off  and  remote  echo,"  and  when,  as  we  learn 
from  others,  a  burst  of  applause  greeted  a  few  well-chosen 
words  drawn  from  that  full  well  of  thought,  that  pellucid 


SHY  PEOPLE.  239 

rill  of  "  English  undefiled,"  the  unobtrusive  gentleman  by 
his  side  applauded  and  said  to  him,  "  It  was  handsomely 
done."  The  compliment  pleased  the  shy  man.  It  is  the 
only  compliment  to  himself  which  Hawthorne  ever  recorded. 

Now,  had  Hawthorne  been  congratulated  by  a  sympa- 
thetic, effusive  American,  who  had  clapped  him  on  the  back, 
and  who  had  said,  "  O,  never  fear — you  will  speak  well !" 
he  would  have  said  nothing.  The  shy  sprite  in  his  own 
eyes  would  have  read  in  his  neighbor's  eyes  the  dreadful 
truth  that  his  sympathetic  neighbor  would  have  indubitably 
betrayed — a  fear  that  he  would  not  do  well.  The  phlegmatic 
and  stony  Englishman  neither  felt  nor  cared  whether  Haw- 
thorne spoke  well  or  ill ;  and,  although  pleased  that  he  did 
speak  well,  invested  no  particular  sympathy  in  the  matter, 
either  for  or  against,  and  so  spared  Hawthorne's  shyness 
the  last  bitter  drop  in  the  cup,  which  would  have  been  a 
recognition  of  his  own  moral  dread.  Hawthorne  bitterly 
records  his  own  sufferings.  He  says,  in  one  of  his  books, 
"  At  this  time  I  acquired  this  accursed  habit  of  solitude." 
It  has  been  said  that  the  Hawthorne  family  wece,  in  the 
earlier  generation,  afflicted  with  shyness  almost  as  a  disease — 
certainly  a  curious  freak  of  nature  in  a  family  descended 
from  robust  sea-captains.  It  only  goes  to  prove  how  far 
away  are  the  influences  which  control  our  natures  and  our 
actions. 

Whether,  if  Hawthorne  had  not  been  a  shy  man,  afflicted 
with  a  sort  of  horror  of  his  species  at  times,  always  averse 
to  letting  himself  go,  miserable  and  morbid,  we  should  have 
been  the  inheritors  of  the  great  fortune  which  he  has  left 
us,  is  not  for  us  to  decide.  Whether  we  should  have 
owned  "  The  Gentle  Boy,"  the  immortal  "  Scarlet  Letter," 
"The  House  with  Seven  Gables,"  "The  Marble  Faun," 
and  all  the  other  wonderful  things  which  grew  out  of  that 


240  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

secluded  and  gifted  nature,  had  he  been  born  a  cheerful, 
popular,  and  sympathetic  boy,  with  a  dancing-school  man- 
ner, instead  of  an  awkward  and  shy  youth  (although  an 
exceedingly  handsome  one),  we  can  not  tell.  That  is  the 
great  secret  behind  the  veil.  The  answer  is  not  yet  made, 
the  oracle  has  not  spoken,  and  we  must  not  invade  the 
penumbra  of  genius. 

WASHINGTON  AND  IRVING. 

It  has  always  been  a  comfort  to  the  awkward  and  the  shy 
that  Washington  could  not  make  an  after-dinner  speech ;  and 
the  well-known  anecdote — "  Sit  down,  Mr.  Washington,  your 
modesty  is  even  greater  than  your  valor" — must  have  con- 
soled many  a  voiceless  hero.  Washington  Irving  tried  to 
welcome  Dickens,  but  failed  in  the  attempt,  while  Dickens 
was  as  voluble  as  he  was  gifted.  Probably  the  very  sur- 
roundings of  sympathetic  admirers  unnerved  both  Washing- 
ton and  Irving,  although  there  are  some  men  who  can  never 
"  speak  on  their  legs,"  as  the  saying  goes,  in  any  society. 

Other  shy  men — men  who  fear  general  society,  and  show 
embarrassment  in  the  every-day  surroundings — are  eloquent 
when  they  get  on  their  feet.  Many  a  shy  boy  at  college  has 
astonished  his  friends  by  his  ability  in  an  after-dinner  speech. 
Many  a  voluble,  glib  boy,  who  has  been  appointed  the  orator 
of  the  occasion,  fails  utterly,  disappoints  public  expectation, 
and  sits  down  with  an  uncomfortable  mantle  of  failure  upon 
his  shoulders.  Therefore,  the  ways  of  shyness  are  inscruta- 
ble. Many  a  woman  who  has  never  known  what  it  is  to  be 
bashful  or  shy  has,  when  called  upon  to  read  a  copy  of 
verses,  even  to  a  circle  of  intimate  friends,  lost  her  voice, 
and  has  utterly  broken  down,  to  her  own  and  her  friends' 
great  astonishment. 

The  voice  is  a  treacherous  servant ;  it  deserts  us,  trembles, 


SHY  PEOPLE.  241 

makes  a  failure  of  it,  is  "  not  present  or  accounted  for " 
often  when  we  need  its  help.  It  is  not  alone  in  the  shriek 
of  the  hysterical  that  we  learn  of  its  lawlessness ;  it  is  in  its 
complete  retirement.  A  bride  often,  even  when  she  felt  no 
other  embarrassment,  has  found  that  she  had  no  voice  with 
which  to  make  her  responses.  It  simply  was  not  there. 

A  lady  who  was  presented  at  court,  and  who  felt — as  she 
described  herself  wonderfully  at  her  ease,  began  talking, 
and,  without  wishing  to  speak  loud,  discovered  that  she  was 
shouting  like  a  trumpeter.  The  somewhat  unusual  strain 
which  she  had  put  upon  herself  during  the  ordeal  of  being  pre- 
sented at  the  English  court  revenged  itself  by  an  outpour- 
ing of  voice  which  she  could  not  control. 

Many  shy  people  have  recognized  in  themselves  this  curious 
and  unconscious  elevation  of  voice.  It  is  not  so  common  as 
a  loss  of  voice,  but  it  is  quite  as  uncontrollable. 

The  bronchial  tubes  play  us  another  trick  when  we  are 
frightened ;  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  somebody  else ;  it  has 
no  resemblance  to  our  own.  Ventriloquism  might  well  study 
the  phenomena  of  shyness,  for  the  voice  becomes  base  that 
was  treble,  and  soprano  that  which  was  contralto. 

"  I  dislike  to  have  Wilthorpe  come  to  see  me,"  said  a  very 
shy  woman,  "  I  know  my  voice  will  squeak  so."  With  her 
Wilthorpe,  who  for  some  reason  drove  her  into  an  agony  of 
shyness,  had  the  effect  of  making  her  talk  in  a  high,  un- 
natural strain,  excessively  fatiguing. 

The  presence  of  one's  own  family,  who  are  naturally  pain- 
fully sympathetic,  has  always  had  upon  the  bashful  and  the 
shy  a  most  evil  effect. 

"  I  can  never  plead  a  case  before  my  father,"  "  Nor  I 
before  my  son,"  said  two  distinguished  lawyers.  "  If  mamma 
is  in  the  room,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  get  through  my  part," 

said  a  young  amateur  actor. 

16 


242  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

But  here  we  must  pause  to  note  another  exception  in  the 
laws  of  shyness. 

In  the  false  perspective  of  the  stage,  shyness  often  dis- 
appears. The  shy  man,  speaking  the  words  and  assuming 
the  character  of  another,  often  loses  his  shyness.  It  is  him- 
self of  whom  he  is  afraid,  not  of  Tony  Lumpkin  or  of 
Charles  Surface,  of  Hamlet  or  of  Claude  Melnotte.  Behind 
their  masks  he  can  speak  well ;  but  if  he  at  his  own  dinner- 
table  essays  to  speak,  and  mamma  watches  him  with  sym- 
pathetic eyes,  and  his  brothers  and  sisters  are  all  listening^ 

he  fails. 

"  Lord  Percy  sees  me  fall." 

Yet  it  is  with  our  own  people  that  we  must  stand  or  fall, 
live  or  die ;  it  is  in  our  own  circle  that  we  must  conquer 
our  shyness. 

Now,  these  reflections  are  not  intended  as  an  argument 
against  sympathy  properly  expressed.  A  reasonable  and 
judiciously  expressed  sympathy  with  our  fellow-beings  is  the 
very  highest  attribute  of  our  nature.  "  It  unravels  secrets 
more  surely  than  the  highest  critical  faculty.  Analysis  of 
motives  that  sway  men  and  women  is  like  the  knife  of  the 
anatomist;  it  works  on  the  dead.  Unite  sympathy  to  ob- 
servation, and  the  dead  spring  to  life."  It  is  thus  to  the 
shy,  in  their  moments  of  tremor,  that  we  should  endeavor  to  be 
calmly  sympathetic;  not  cruel,  but  indifferent,  unobservant. 

Now,  women  of  genius,  who  obtain  a  reflected  compre- 
hension of  certain  aspects  of  life  through  sympathy,  often 
arrive  at  the  admirable  result  of  apprehending  the  sufferings 
of  the  shy  without  seeming  to  observe  them.  Such  a  woman, 
in  talking  to  a  shy  man,  will  not  seem  to  see  him;  she  will 
prattle  on  about  herself,  or  tell  some  funny  anecdote  of  how 
she  was  tumbled  out  into  the  snow,  or  how  she  spilled  her 
glass  of  claret  at  dinner,  or  how  she  got  just  too  late  to  the 


SLY  PEOPLE.  243 

lecture ;  and  while  she  is  thus  absorbed  in  her  little  impro- 
vised autobiography,  the  shy  man  gets  hold  of  himself,  and 
ceases  to  be  afraid  of  her.  This  is  the  secret  of  tact. 

MADAME  RECAMIER. 

Madame  Recamier,  the  famous  beauty,  was  always  some- 
what shy.  She  was  not  a  wit,  but  she  possessed  the  gift  of 
drawing  out  what  was  best  in  others.  Her  biographers 
have  blamed  her  that  she  had  not  a  more  impressionable 
temper,  that  she  was  not  more  sympathetic.  Perhaps  (in 
spite  of  her  courage  when  she  took  up  contributions  in  the 
churches  dressed  as  a  Neo-Greek)  she  was  always  hampered 
by  shyness.  She  certainly  attracted  all  the  best  and  most 
gifted  of  her  time,  and  had  a  noble  fearlessness  in  friend- 
ship, and  a  constancy  which  she  showed  by  following  Mad- 
ame de  Stael  into  exile,  and  in  her  devotion  to  Ballenche 
and  Chateaubriand.  She  had  the  genius  of  friendship,  a  na- 
tive sincerity,  a  certain  reality  of  nature — those  fine  qualities 
which  so  often  accompany  the  shy  that  we  almost,  as  we 
read  biography  and  history,  begin  to  think  that  shyness  is 
but  a  veil  for  all  the  virtues. 

Perhaps  to  this  shyness,  or  to  this  hidden  sympathy,  did 
Madame  Recamier  owe  that  power  over  all  men  which  sur- 
vived her  wonderful  beauty.  The  blind  and  poor  old  woman 
of  the  Abbaye  had  not  lost  her  charm;  the  most  eminent 
men  and  women  of  her  day  followed  her  there,  and  enjoyed 
her  quiet  (not  very  eloquent)  conversation.  She  had  a 
wholesome  heart ;  it  kept  her  from  folly  when  she  was  young, 
from  a  too  over-facile  sensitiveness  to  which  an  impression- 
able, sympathetic  temperament  would  have  betrayed  her. 
Her  firm,  sweet  nature  was  not  flurried  by  excitement ;  she  had 
a  steadfastness  in  her  social  relations  which  has  left  behind 
an  everlasting  renown  to  her  name. 


244  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

And  what  are,  after  all,  these  social  relations  which  call 
for  so  much  courage,  and  which  can  create  so  much  suffering 
to  most  of  us  as  we  conquer  for  them  our  awkardness  and 
our  shyness?  Let  us  pause  for  a  moment,  and  try  to  be 
just.  Let  us  contemplate  these  social  ethics,  which  call  for 
so  much  that  is,  perhaps,  artificial  and  troublesome  and  con- 
tradictory. Society,  so  long  as  it  is  the  congregation  of  the 
good,  the  witty,  the  bright,  the  intelligent,  and  the  gifted, 
is  the  thing  most  necessary  to  us  all.  We  are  apt  to  like  it 
and  its  excitements  almost  too  well,  or  to  hate  it,  with  its 
excesses  and  its  mistakes,  too  bitterly.  We  are  rarely  just 
to  society. 

The  rounded,  and  harmonious,  and  temperate  understand- 
ing and  use  of  society  is,  however,  the  very  aim  and  end  of 
education.  We  are  born  to  live  with  each  other  and  not 
for  ourselves.  If  we  are  cheerful,  our  cheerfulness  was  given 
to  us  to  make  bright  the  lives  of  those  about  us;  if  we  have 
genius,  that  is  a  sacred  trust;  if  we  have  beauty,  wit,  joy- 
ousness,  it  was  given  us  for  the  delectation  of  others,  not 
for  ourselves;  if  we  are  awkward  and  shy,  we  are  bound  to 
break  the  crust,  and  to  show  that  within  us  is  beauty,  cheer- 
fulness, and  wit.  "  It  is  but  the  fool  who  loves  excess."  The 
best  human  being  should  moderately  like  society. — MRS. 
JOHN  SHERWOOD. 


XXVIII. 


(BORN  1755—  DIED  1835.) 

IN  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  ARMY-HIS  MARRIAGE-LAW  LECTURES-AT 
THE  BAR-H1S  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS—  ON  THE  BENCH. 


HE  family  stock  of  Marshall,  like  that  of  Jeffer- 
son, was  Welsh,  as  is  generally  the  case  in  names 
with  a  double  letter,  as  a  double  f  or  a  double  1. 
This  Welsh  type  was  made  steady  by  English  in- 
fusions. The  first  Marshall  came  from  Wales  in  1730,  and 
settled  in  the  same  county  where  Washington,  Monroe,  and 
the  Lees  were  born.  He  was  a  poor  man,  and  lived  in  a 
tract  called  "The  Forest."  His  eldest  son,  Thomas,  went 
out  to  Fauquier  County,  at  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and 
settled  on  Goose  Creek,  under  Manassas  Gap.  This  Thomas 
Marshall  had  been  a  playmate  of  George  Washington,  and> 
like  him,  was  a  mountain  surveyor,  and  they  loved  each 
other,  and  when  the  Revolutionary  War  broke  out  both 
went  into  the  service,  Thomas  Marshall  being  colonel  of  one 
of  the  Virginia  regiments.  His  son,  John  Marshall,  who 
was  not  twenty  years  old  when  the  conflict  began,  became  a 
lieutenant  under  his  father.  The  mother  of  John  Marshall 
was  named  Mary  Kieth,  and  his  grandmother  Elizabeth 
Markham,  and  the  latter  was  born  in  England. 

Marshall's  father  had  a  good  mind,  not  much  education ; 
but  he  was  a  great  reader,  and  especially  loved  poetry,  and 
he  taught  his  son  to  commit  poetry  to  memory,  and  to  model 
his  mind  on  the  clear  diction  and  heroic  strain  of  poets  like 
Milton,  Shakespeare,  Dryden,  and  Pope.  In  these  books  of 

245 


246  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

poetry  the  great  chief-justice  found  the  springs  to  freshen 
his  own  good  character.  To  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  loved 
literature,  and  was  especially  fond  of  novels,  and  of  books 
written  by  females.  He  held  the  view  that  the  United 
•  States  must  be  a  literary  nation  in  the  sense  of  having  great 
and  noble  authors  to  leaven  its  people  and  teach  them  high 
thoughts.  His  schools  were  chiefly  down  in  the  Chesapeake 
Bay,  in  the  county  of  his  birth,  and  his  teachers  were  poor 
Presbyterian  clergymen  from  Scotland,  who  at  that  period 
were  the  teachers  of  nearly  all  the  Middle  States,  from  New 
York  southward.  He  knew  some  Latin,  but  not  very  much. 
One  of  his  teachers  was  his  own  father,  who,  with  a  large 
family,  took  delight  in  training  this  boy. 

OUR  JUDGE  ON  DRILL. 

In  1775  the  country  hunters  and  boors  on  the  Blue  Ridge 
Mountain  went  to  their  mustering  place,  and,  the  senior 
officer  being  absent,  this  young  Marshall,  with  a  gun  on  his 
shoulder,  began  to  show  them  how  to  use  it.  Like  them, 
he  wore  a  blue  hunting  shirt  and  trousers  of  some  stuff 
fringed  with  white,  and  in  his  round  hat  was  a  buck-tail  for 
a  cockade.  He  was  about  six  feet  high,  lean  and  straight, 
with  a  dark  skin,  black  hair,  a  pretty  low  forehead,  and 
rich,  dark  small  eyes,  the  whole  making  a  face  dutiful,  pleasing, 
and  modest.  After  the  drill  was  over  he  stood  up  and  told 
those  strange,  wild  mountaineers,  who  had  no  newspapers 
and  knew  little  of  the  world,  what  the  war  was  about.  He 
described  to  them  the  battle  of  Lexington.  They  listened 
to  him  for  an  hour,  as  if  he  had  been  some  young  preacher. 

Thus  was  our  great  chief-justice  introduced  to  public 
life.  He  had  come  to  serve,  and  found  that  he  must  in- 
struct. When  he  marched  with  the  regiment  of  these 
mountaineers,  who  carried  tomahawks  and  scalping-knives, 


JOHN  MARSHALL.  247 

the  people  of  Williamsburg  trembled  for  their  lives.  At 
that  time,  the  country  near  Harper's  Ferry  was  the  Far 
West.  In  a  very  little  while,  these  mountaineers,  by  min- 
gled stratagem  and  system,  defeated  Lord  Dun  more,  very 
much  as  Andrew  Jackson  defeated  the  British  at  New  Or- 
leans thirty-five  years  later.  Marshall  then  went  with  the 
army  to  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia;  was  in  the  battles  of 
Brandy  wine  and  German  town,  and  in  the  long  Winter  of 
Valley  Forge.  Almost  naked  at  that  place,  he  showed  an 
abounding  good-nature,  that  kept  the  whole  camp  content. 
If  he  had  to  eat  meat  without  bread,  he  did  it  with  a  jest. 
Among  his  men  he  had  the  influence  of  a  father,  though  a 
boy.  He  was  so  much  better  read  than  others  that  he  fre- 
quently became  a  judge  advocate,  and  in  this  way  he  got  to 
know  Alexander  Hamilton,  who  was  on  Washington's  staff. 
Marshall  was  always  willing  to  see  the  greatness  of  another 
person,  and  Judge  Story  says  that  he  said  of  Hamilton  that 
he  was  not  only  of  consummate  ability  as  both  soldier  and 
statesman,  but  that,  in  great,  comprehensive  mind,  sound 
principle,  and  purity  of  patriotism,  no  nation  ever  had  his 
superior. 

It  became  Marshall's  duty,  in  the  course  of  twenty-five 
years,  to  try  for  high  treason  the  man  who  killed  his  friend 
Hamilton,  but  he  conducted  that  trial  with  such  an  absence 
of  personal  feeling  that  it  was  among  the  greatest  marvels 
of  our  legal  history.  He  could  neither  be  influenced  by  his 
private  grief  for  Hamilton,  nor  by  Jefferson's  attempts  as 
President  to  injure  Burr,  nor  by  Burr  himself,  whom  he 
charged  the  jury  to  acquit,  but  whom  he  held  under  bond 
on  another  charge,  to  Burr's  rage.  Marshall  was  in  the 
battle  of  Monmouth,  and  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point, 
and  at  the  surprise  of  Jersey  City.  In  the  army  camps,  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  Northern  men,  and  so  far  from 


248  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

comparing  invidiously  with  them,  he  recognized  them  all  as 
fellow-countrymen  and  brave  men,  and  never  in  his  life  was 
there  a  single  trace  of  sectionalism. 

HIS  MARRIAGE. 

Near  the  close  of  the  Revolution,  Marshall  went  to  York- 
town,  somewhat  before  Cornwallis  occupied  it,  to  pay  a 
visit,  and  there  he  saw  Mary  Ambler  at  the  age  of  fourteen. 
She  became  his  wife  in  1783.  Her  father  was  Jacqueline 
Ambler,  the  treasurer  of  the  State  of  Virginia.  She  lived 
with  him  forty-eight  years,  and  died  in  December,  1831. 
He  often  remarked  in  subsequent  life  that  the  race  of  lovers 
had  changed.  Said  he :  "  When  I  married  my  wife,  all  I 
had  left  after  paying  the  minister  his  fee  was  a  guinea,  and 
I  thought  I  was  rich."  General  Burgoyne,  whom  Mar- 
shall's fellow-soldiers  so  humiliated,  wrote  some  verses,  and 
among  these  were  the  following,  which  Marshall  said  over 
to  himself  often  when  thinking  of  his  wife : 

"  Encompassed  in  an  angel's  frame, 

An  angel's  virtues  lay ; 
Too  soon  did  heaven  assert  its  claim 

And  take  its  own  away. 
My  Mary's  worth,  my  Mary's  charms, 

Can  never  more  return. 
What  now  shall  fill  these  widowed  arms? 

Ah,  me !  my  Mary's  urn." 

LAW  LECTURES. 

The  only  law  lectures  Marshall  ever  attended  were  those 
of  Chancellor  Wythe,  at  William  and  Mary  College,  Will- 
iamsburg,  while  the  Revolution  was  still  going  on.  Before 
the  close  of  the  war  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  but  the 
courts  were  all  suspended  until  after  Cornwallis's  surrender. 
Before  the  war  closed  Marshall  walked  from  near  Manassas 
Gap,  or  rather  from  Oak  Hill,  his  father's  residence,  to 


JOHN  MARSHALL.  249 

Philadelphia  on  foot  to  be  vaccinated.  The  distance  was 
nearly  two  hundred  miles;  but  he  walked  about  thirty-five 
miles  a  day,  and  when  he  got  to  Philadelphia  looked  so 
shabby  that  they  repelled  him  at  the  hotel;  but  this  only 
made  him  laugh  and  find  another  hotel.  He  never  paid 
much  attention  to  his  dress,  and  observed  through  life  the 
simple  habits  he  found  agreeable  as  a  boy.  For  two  years 
he  practiced-  in  one  rough,  native  county ;  but  it  soon  being 
evident  that  he  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  grasp  of  a  law 
case,  he  removed  to  Richmond,  which  had  not  long  been 
the  capital,  and  there  he  lived  until  his  death,  which  hap- 
pened in  1835  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  whither  he  had 
repaired  to  submit  to  a  second  operation.  The  first  of  these 
operations  was  cutting  to  the  bladder  for  the  stone,  and  he 
survived  it.  Subsequently,  his  liver  became  enlarged  and 
had  abcesses  on  it,  and  his  stomach  would  not  retain  much 
nutriment.  Marshall  was  a  social  man,  and  at  times  con- 
vivial ;  and  I  should  think  it  probable  that,  though  he  lived 
to  a  good  old  age,  these  complaints  were,  to  some  extent, 
engendered  by  the  fried  food  they  insist  upon  in  Virginia, 
and  addiction  to  Madeira  wine  instead  of  lighter  French  or 
German  wines.  He  was  one  of  the  last  of  the  old  Madeira 
drinkers  of  this  country,  like  Washington,  and  his  only 
point  of  pride  was  that  he  had  perhaps  the  best  Madeira  at 
Richmond.  Above  all  other  men  who  ever  lived  at  Rich- 
mond, Virginia,  Marshall  gives  sanctity  and  character  to 
the  place.  His  house  still  stands  there,  and  ought  to  be- 
come the  property  of  the  bar  of  this  country.  It  is  now  a 
pretty  old  house,  made  of  brick  and  moderately  roomy. 

AT  THE  BAR 

The  basis  of  Marshall's  ability  at  the  bar  was  his  un- 
derstanding.     Not  highly  read,  he  had  one  of  those  clear 


250  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

understandings  which  was  equal  to  a  mill-pond  of  book- 
learning.  His  first  practice  was  among  his  old  companions 
in  arms,  who  felt  that  he  was  a  soldier  by  nature,  and  one 
of  those  who  loved  the  fellowship  of  the  camp  better  than 
military  or  political  ambition.  Ragged  and  dissipated,  they 
used  to  come  to  him  for  protection,  and  at  a  time  when  im- 
prisonment for  debt  and  cruel  executions  were  in  vogue. 
He  not  only  defended  them,  but  loaned  them  money.  He 
lost  some  good  clients  by  not  paying  more  attention  to  his 
clothing,  but  these  outward  circumstances  could  not  long 
keep  back  recognition  of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  finest  ar- 
guer  of  a  case  at  the  Richmond  bar,  which  then  contained 
such  men  as  Edmund  Randolph,  Patrick  Henry,  and  later, 
William  Wirt.  He  was  not  an  orator,  did  not  cultivate  his 
voice,  did  not  labor  hard ;  but  he  had  the  power  to  pene- 
trate to  the  very  center  of  the  subject,  discover  the  chief 
point,  and  rally  all  his  forces  there.  If  he  was  defending  a 
case,  he  would  turn  his  attention  to  some  other  than  the 
main  point,  in  order  to  let  the  prosecution  assemble  its 
powers  at  the  wrong  place.  With  a  military  eye  he  saw 
the  strong  and  weak  positions,  and,  like  Rembrandt  paint- 
ing, he  threw  all  his  light  on  the  right  spot.  The  character 
of  his  argument  was  a  perspicuous,  easy,  onward,  accumu- 
lative, reasoning  statement.  He  had  but  one  gesture — to 
lift  up  his  hand  and  bring  it  down  on  the  place  before  him 
constantly.  He  discarded  fancy  or  poetry  in  his  arguments. 
William  Wirt  said  of  him,  in  a  sentence  worth  committing 
to  memory  as  a  specimen  of  good  style  in  the  early  quarter 
of  this  century :  "All  his  eloquence  consists  in  the  apparent 
deep  self-conviction  and  emphatic  earnestness  of  his  man- 
ner; the  corresponding  simplicity  and  energy  of  his  style; 
the  close  and  logical  connection  of  his  thoughts,  and  the 
easy  graduations  by  which  he  opens  his  lights  on  the  atten- 


JOHN  MARSHALL.  251 

tive  minds  of  his  hearers.     The   audience  are  never  per- 
mitted to   pause   for  a  moment.     There  is  no  slopping  to 
weave  garlands  of  flowers  to   hang   in  festoons  around  a 
favorite  argument.     On  the  contrary,  every  sentence  is  pro- 
gressive;   every  idea  sheds  new  light  on  the  subject;    the 
listener  is  kept  perpetually  in  that  sweetly  pleasurable  vi- 
bration with  which  the  mind  of  man  always  receives  new 
truths;  the  dawn  advances  with  easy  but  unremitting  pace; 
the  subject  opens  gradually  on  the  view,  until,  rising  in  high 
relief  in  all  its  native  colors  and  proportions,  the  argument 
is  consummated  by  the  conviction  of  the  delighted  hearer." 
Immediately   after    the    Revolutionary  War    the    State 
(jourts  were  crowded  with  business,  because  of  the  numerous 
bankruptcies,  arising  from  war  habits,  the  changes    in  the 
condition  of   families,  repudiation  of  debts,  false  cnrrency, 
etc.     Marshall  was  one  of  the  first  lawyers  who  rose  to  the 
magnanimity  to  admit  the  propriety  of  a  federal  judiciary, 
different  from  that  of  the  States.     The  other  lawyers  thought 
it    would   not    do   to    take   the    business  away  from   these 
courts.     They  preferred   to  see  the  people  hanging  around 
Richmond,  with  their  cases  undecided  and  unheard  on  ac- 
count of  the  pressure  of  business,  rather  than  to  concede  a 
national  judiciary.     All  sorts  of  novel  questions  were  aris- 
ing at  that  time,  cases  which  had  no  precedents,  which  the 
English  law-books    did   not    reach,  and  where  the  man  of 
native  powers,  pushing  out  like  Columbus  on  the  unknown, 
soon  developed  a  sturdy  strength  and  self-reliance  the  mere 
popinjay  and  student  of  the  law  could  never  get.     Among 
the   cases    he   argued   was  the    British    debt  case,  tried  in 
1793.      The  United  States   now  had  its  Circuit  Court,  and 
Chief-justice   Jay   presided    at    Richmond.     The   treaty  of 
peace  of  England  provided  that  the  creditors  on  either  side 
should  meet  with  no  lawful  impediment  to  the  recovery  of 


252  BRAVE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

the  full  value  of  all  bona  fide  debts  theretofore  contracted. 
The  question  was  whether  debts  sequestrated  by  the  Virginia 
Legislature  during  the  war  came  under  this  treaty.  It  is 
said  that  the  Countess  of  Huntingdon  heard  the  speeches 
on  this  case,  and  said  that  every  one  of  the  lawyers,  if  in 
England,  would  have  been  given  a  peerage.  Patrick  Henry 
broke  his  voice  down  in  this  case,  and  never  again  could 
speak  with  his  old  force.  Marshall  surpassed  them  all  in 
the  cogency  of  his  reasoning.  At  that  time  he  was  thought 
to  be  rather  lazy.  He  went  into  the  State  Legislature  in 
1782,  just  before  he  married.  His  personal  influence  was 
such  in  Richmond  that,  although  he  was  constantly  in  the 
minority,  he  was  «al ways  elected.  His  principal  amusement 
was  pitching  the  quoit,  which  he  did  to  the  end  of  his  days, 
and  could  ring  the  meg,  it  is  said,  at  a  distance  of  sixty  feet 
frequently.  He  arose  early  in  the  morning  and  went  to 
market  without  a  servant,  and  brought  back  his  chickens  in 
one  hand  and  his  market  basket  on  the  other  arm.  He 
never  took  offense,  and  once  when  a  dude  stopped  him  on 
the  street  and  asked  him  where  there  was  a  fellow  to  take 
home  his  marketing,  Marshall  inquired  where  he  lived,  and 
said,  "  I  will  take  it  for  you."  After  he  got  home  with  the 
other  man's  marketing,  the  dude  was  much  distressed  to  find 
that  Mr.  Marshall  had  been  his  supposed  servant. 

INTELLECTUAL  POWER. 

Nevertheless,  the  intellectual  existence  of  the  man  was 
decided.  From  the  beginning  of  his  life  he  took  the  view 
that  while  Virginia  was  the  State  of  his  birth,  his  country 
was  America;  that  all  he  and  his  neighbors  could  accom- 
plish on  this  planet  Would  be  under  the  great  government 
which  comprehends  all,  and,  true  to  this  one  idea,  he  never 
wavered  in  his  life.  Mr.  Jefferson,  who  was  much  his  senior, 


JOHN  MARSHALL.  253 

he  distrusted  profoundly,  regarding  him  as  a  man  of  cun- 
ning, lacking  in  large  faith,  and  constitutionally  biased  in 
mind.  In  the  sketch  Marshall  made  of  General  Washing- 
ton, he  said,  and  it  is  believed  that  he  referred  to  Jefferson : 
"  He  made  no  pretension  to  that  vivacity  which  fascinates 
or  to  that  wit  which  dazzles,  and  frequently  imposes  on  the 
understanding.  More  solid  than  brilliant;  judgment,  rather 
than  genius,  constituted  the  most  prominent  feature  of  his 
character.  No  man  has  ever  appeared  upon  the  theater  of 
public  action  whose  integrity  was  more  incorruptible,  or 
whose  principles  were  more  perfectly  free  from  the  con- 
tamination of  those  selfish  and  unworthy  passions  which 
find  their  nourishment  in  the  conflicts  of  party.  Having  no 
views  which  required  concealment,  his  real  and  avowed  mo- 
tives were  the  same,  and  his  whole  correspondence  does  not 
furnish  a  single  case  from  which  even  an  enemy  would 
infer  that  he  was  capable,  under  any  circumstances,  of  stoop- 
ing to  the  employment  of  duplicity.  No  truth  can  be  uttered 
with  more  confidence  than  that  his  ends  were  always  upright 
and  his  means  always  pure.  He  exhibited  the  rare  example 
of  a  politician  to  whom  wiles  were  totally  unknown,  and 
whose  professions  to  foreign  governments,  and  to  his  own 
countrymen,  were  always  sincere.  In  him  was  fully  exem- 
plified the  real  distinction  which  found  existence  between 
wisdom  and  cunning,  and  the  importance,  as  well  as  the 
truth  of  the  maxim,  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy."  It  is 
to  be  noticed  that  Marshall's  "  Life  of  Washington,"  though 
written  by  the  chief-justice  of  the  United  States,  was  not 
a  success,  and  passed  through  only  one  edition.  It  gave 
him  more  annoyance  than  any  thing  in  his  life.  He  wrote 
it  with  labor  and  sincerity,  but  he  was  incapable  of  writing 
mere  smart,  vivacious  things,  and,  in  the  attempt  to  give 
Washington  his  due  proportions,  he  insensibly  failed  of 
making  a  popular  book.  * 


254  BEAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Jefferson,  who  had  been  urging  Tobias  Lear,  Washing- 
ton's secretary,  to  get  out  of  Washington's  papers  remarks 
injurious  to  himself,  was  greatly  exercised  at  the  publication 
of  Marshall's  book  about  as  much  as  the  better  element 
dudes  are  at  Elaine's  book. 

Mr.  Marshall,  in  1788,  assisted  to  make  the  new  consti- 
tution of  Virginia.  By  the  desire  of  Washington  he  ran 
for  Congress  as  a  Federalist.  President  Washington  offered 
him  the  place  of  attorney -general,  which  he  declined.  He 
also  declined  the  minister  to  France,  but  subsequently  ac- 
cepted the  position  from  President  Adams,  and  in  France 
was  insulted  with  his  fellow-members  by  Talleyrand.  John 
Adams,  on  his  return,  wished  to  make  him  a  member  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  but  this  he  declined,  preferring  the  practice 
of  the  law. 

It  was  at  Mount  Vernon  that  Washington  prevailed  upon 
him  to  run  for  Congress.  The  story  being  raised  that  Patrick 
Henry  was  opposed  to  him,  old  Henry  came  forward  and 
said :  "  I  should  rather  give  my  vote  to  John  Marshall  than 
to  any  citizen  of  this  State  at  this  juncture,  one  only  ex- 
cepted,"  meaning  Washington. 

The  father  of  Robert  E.  Lee  was  one  of  the  oM  Federal 
minority  rallying  under  Marshall.  Marshall  had  scarcely 
taken  his  seat  in  Congress,  in  1799,  when  Washington  died, 
and  he  officially  announced  the  death  at  Philadelphia,  and 
followed  his  remarks  by  introducing  the  resolutions  drafted 
by  General  Lee,  which  contained  the  words,  "  First  in  war, 
first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen." 

ON  THE  BENCH. 

John  Marshall  was  next  Secretary  of  State  of  John  Adams, 
succeeding  Timothy  Pickering.  Adams  was  defeated  for  re- 
election, but  before  he  went  out  of  office  he  appointed 
Marshall  chief-justice,  at  the  age  of  forty-five. 


JOHN  MARSHALL.  255 

At  the  head  of  that  great  bench  sat  Marshall  more  than 
one-third  of  a  century.  Before  him  pleaded  all  the  great 
lawyers  of  the  country,  like  William  Pinckney,  Hugh  Legare", 
Daniel  Webster,  Horace  Binney,  Luther  Martin,  and  Walter 
Jones. 

John  Marshall  left  as  his  great  legacy  to  the  United  States 
his  interpretation  of  the  Constitution.  While  chief-justice 
he  became  a  member  of  the  Constitutional  Convention  of 
Virginia  in  company  with  Madison  and  Monroe,  both  of 
whom  had  been  President.  He  gave  the  Federal  Constitu- 
tion its  liberal  interpretation,  that  it  was  not  merely  a  bone 
thrown  to  the  general  government,  which  must  be  watched 
with  suspicion  while  it  ate,  but  that  it  was  a  document  with 
something  of  the  elasticity  of  our  population  and  climate, 
and  that  it  was  designed  to  convey  to  the  general  state 
powers  noble  enough  to  give  us  respect. 

Without  a  spot  on  his  reputation,  without  an  upright 
enemy,  the  old  man  attended  to  his  duty  absolutely,  loved 
argument,  encouraged  all  young  lawyers  at  the  bar,  and  he 
lived  down  to  the  time  of  nullification,  and  when  General 
Jackson  issued  his  proclamation  against  the  nullifiers  John 
Marshall  and  Judge  Story  went  up  to  the  White  House  and 
took  a  glass  of  wine  with  him. 

And  thus  those  two  old  men  silently  appreciated  each 
other  near  the  end  of  their  days  when  the  suspicions  of 
Jefferson  had  resulted  in  incipient  rebellion  that  was  to 
break  out  in  less  than  thirty  years,  and  which  Marshall  pre- 
dicted unless  there  was  a  more  general  assent  to  the  fact  that 
we  were  one  country,  and  not  a  parcel  of  political  chicken- 
coops. — GEORGE  ALFRED  TOWNSEND. 


XXIX. 

B  M0BLE 

HOW  SHE  TRAINED  HERSELF,  AND  EDUCATED  HER  BOYS 


JARRIETTE  REA,  in  The  Christian  Union,  some 
time  ago,  drew  a  picture  of  home  life  in  the  West, 
which  ought  to  be  framed  and  hung  up  in  every 
household  of  the  land. 
In  one  of  the  prairie  towns  of  Northern  Iowa,  where  the 
Illinois  Central  Railroad  now  passes  from  Dubuque  to  Sioux 
City,  lived  a  woman  whose  experience  repeats  the  truth  that 
inherent  forces,  ready  to  be  developed,  are  waiting  for  the 
emergencies  that  life  may  bring. 

She  was  born  and  "brought  up"  in  New  England. 
With  the  advantages  of  a  country  school,  and  a  few  terms 
in  a  neighboring  city,  she  became  a  fair  scholar — not  at  all 
remarkable;  she  was  married  at  twenty-one  to  a  young 
farmer,  poor,  but  intelligent  and  ambitious.  In  ten  years 
after  the  death  of  their  parents  they  emigrated  to  Iowa,  and 
invested  their  money  in  land  that  bade  fair  to  increase  in 
value,  but  far  away  from  neighbors.  Here  they  lived,  a 
happy  family,  for  five  years,  when  he  died,  leaving  her,  at 
the  age  of  thirty-five,  with  four  boys,  the  eldest  nearly  four- 
teen, the  youngest  nine.  The  blow  came  suddenly,  and  at 
first  was  overwhelming.  Alone,  in  what  seemed  almost  a 
wilderness,  she  had  no  thought  of  giving  up  the  farm.  It 
was  home.  There  they  must  stay  and  do  the  best  they  could. 
The  prospect  of  a  railroad  passing  near  them,  in  time,  was 
good;  then  some  of  the  land  might  be  sold.  A  little  money 
had  been  laid  by — nothing  that  she  ought  to  touch  for  the 
256 


A  NOBLE  MOTHER.  257 

present.  Daniel,  the  hired  man,  who  had  come  out  with 
them,  and  who  was  a  devoted  friend  and  servant,  she  deter- 
mined to  keep — his  judgment  was  excellent  in  farm  matters. 
Hitherto  the  boys  had  gone  regularly  to  school,  a  mile  or 
two  away;  for  a  settlement  in  Iowa  was  never  without  its 
school-house.  They  were  bright  and  quick  to  learn.  Their 
father  had  been  eager  to  help  and  encourage  them.  News- 
papers, magazines,  and  now  and  then  a  good  book,  had 
found  their  way  into  this  household.  Though  very  fond  of 
reading  herself,  with  the  care  of  her  house  she  had  drifted 
along,  as  so  many  women  do,  until  the  discipline  of  study, 
or  any  special  application,  had  been  almost  forgotten.  It  was 
the  ambition  of  both  parents  that  their  sons  should  be  well 
educated.  Now  Jerry  and  Thede,  the  two  oldest,  must  be 
kept  at  home  during  the  Summer  to  work.  Nate  and  Johnnie 
could  help  at  night  and  in  the  morning.  The  boys  had  all 
been  trained  to  habits  of  obedience.  They  were  affection- 
ate, and  she  knew  that  she  could  depend  upon  their  love. 

One  evening,  alone  in  her  bedroom,  she  overheard  some 
part  of  a  conversation  as  the  children  were  sitting  together 
around  the  open  fire-place : 

"I  do  n't  mind  the  work,"  said  Theodore,  "if  I  could 
only  be  learning,  too.  Father  used  to  say  he  wanted  me  to 
be  a  civil  engineer." 

"If  father  was  here,"  said  eleven-year-old  Nate,  "you 
could  study  evenings  and  recite  to  him.  I  wish  mother  could 
help;  but,  then  I  guess  mother's — " 

"Help  how?"  she  heard  Jerry  ask  sharply,  before  Nate 
could  finish  his  sentence ;  and  she  knew  the  boy  was  jealous 
at  once  for  her.  "  Is  n't  she  the  best  mother  in  the  world  ?" 

"Yes,  she  is;  and  she  likes  stories,  too;  but  I  was  just 
thinking,  now  that  you  can  't  go  to  school,  if  she  only  knew 
a  lot  about  every  thing,  why,  she  could  tell  you." 

17 


258  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"Well,"  replied  Jerry,  with  all  the  gravity  of  a  man, 
"we  must  just  take  hold  and  help  all  we  can;  it's  going  to 
be  hard  enough  for  mother.  I  just  hate  to  give  up  school  and 
pitch  into  work.  Thede,  you  shall  go  next  Winter,  any  way." 

"Shan't  we  be  lonesome  next  Winter?"  said  little  John- 
nie, who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  talk  until  now;  "won't 
mother  be  afraid  ?  I  want  my  father  back,"  and,  without  a 
word  of  warning,  he  burst  into  tears. 

Dead  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  The  outburst  was  so 
sudden,  she  knew  they  were  all  weeping.  It  was  Jerry 
again  who  spoke  first :  "  Do  n't  let  mother  see  us  crying. 
Come,  Johnnie,  let 's  take  Bone,  and  all  go  down  to  the 
trap;"  then  she  heard  them  pass  out  of  the  house. 

"  Desolation  fell  upon  that  poor  mother  for  the  next  hour. 
Like  a  knife,  Nate's  remark  had  passed  through  her  heart, 
"  Father  could  have  helped !"  Could  n't  she  help  her  boys, 
for  whom  she  was  ready  to  die  ?  Was  she  only  "  mother," 
who  prepared  their  meals  and  took  care  of  their  clothes? 
She  wanted  a  part  in  the  very  best  of  their  lives.  She 
thought  it  all  over,  sitting  up  far  into  the  night.  If  she  could 
only  create  an  interest  in  some  study  that  should  bind  them 
all  together,  and  in  which  she  could  lead !  Was  she  too  old 
to  begin  ?  Never  had  the  desire  to  become  the  very  center 
of  interest  to  them  taken  such  a  hold  upon  her. 

A  few  weeks  after,  she  said  one  morning,  at  the  breakfast 
table,  "  Boys,  I  've  been  thinking  that  we  might  begin  geology 
this  Summer,  and  study  it,  all  of  us  together.  Your  father 
and  I  meant  to  do  it  sometime.  I've  found  a  text-book;  by 
and  by,  perhaps,  Thede  can  draw  us  a  chart.  Jerry  will 
take  hold,  I  know,  and  Nate  and  Johnnie  can  hunt  for  spec- 
imens. We  '11  have  an  hour  or  two  every  night." 

The  children's  interest  awoke  in  a  flash,  and  that  very 
evening  the  question  discussed  was  one  brought  in  by  Nate : 


A  NOBLE  MOTHER.  259 

"What  is  the  difference  between  limestone  and  granite?" 
A  simple  one,  but  it  opened  the  way  for  her,  and  their  first 
meeting  proved  a  success.  She  had  to  study  each  day  to  be 
ready  and  wide  awake  for  her  class.  They  lived  in  a  lime- 
stone region.  Different  forms  of  coral  abounded,  and  other 
fossils  were  plenty.  An  old  cupboard  in  the  shed  was 
turned  into  a  cabinet.  One  day  Nate,  who  had  wandered 
off  two  or  three  miles,  brought  home  a  piece  of  rock,  where 
curious,  long,  finger-shaped  creatures  were  imbedded.  Great 
was  the  delight  of  all  to  find  them  described  as  ortho-ceratites, 
and  an  expedition  to  the  spot  was  planned  for  some  half-holi- 
day. Question  after  question  led  back  to  the  origin  of  the 
earth.  She  found  the  nebular  hypothesis,  and  hardly  slept  one 
night  trying  to  comprehend  it  clearly  enough  to  put  it  be- 
fore others  in  a  simple  fashion.  Her  book  was  always  at 
hand.  By  and  by  they  classified  each  specimen,  and  the 
best  of  their  kind  were  taken  to  shelves  in  the  sitting-room. 
Her  own  enthusiasm  in  study  was  aroused,  and,  far  from  a 
hardship,  it  now  became  a  delight.  Her  spirit  was  conta- 
gious. The  boys,  always  fond  of  "  mother,"  wondered  what 
new  life  possessed  her;  but  they  accepted  the  change  all  the 
same.  She  found  that  she  could  teach,  and  also  could  in- 
spire her  pupils.  They  heard  of  a  gully,  five  or  six  miles 
away,  where  crystals  had  been  found.  Making  a  holiday, 
for  which  the  boys  worked  like  Trojans,  they  took  their 
lunch  in  the  farm  wagon,  and  rode  to  the  spot;  and  if  their 
search  was  not  altogether  successful,  it  left  them  the  mem- 
ory of  a  happy  time. 

In  the  meantime  the  farm  prospered.  She  did  all  the 
work  in  the  house  and  all  the  sewing,  going  out,  too,  in  the 
garden,  where  she  raised  a  few  flowers,  and  helping  to 
gather  vegetables.  Daniel  and  the  boys  were  bitterly  op- 
posed to  her  helping  them.  "  Mother,"  said  Jerry,  "  if  you 


260  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

won't  ever  think  you  must  go  out,  I'll  do  any  thing  to 
make  up.  I  don't  want  you  to  look  like  those  women  we 
see  sometimes  in  the  fields."  Generally  she  yielded ;  her 
work  was  enough  for  one  pair  of  hands.  Through  it  all 
now  ran  the  thought  that  her  children  were  growing  up; 
they  would  become  educated  men ;  she  would  not  let  them 
get  ahead,  not  so  as  to  pass  her  entirely. 

Winter  came.  Now  Daniel  could  see  to  the  work ;  but 
these  habits  of  study  were  not  to  be  broken.  "  Boys,  let  us 
form  a  history  club,"  was  the  proposition  ;  "it  shan't  inter- 
fere with  your  lessons  at  school."  They  took  the  history  of 
the  United  States,  which  the  two  younger  children  were  study- 
ing. Beginning  with  the  New  England  settlements,  and  be- 
ing six  in  number,  they  called  each  other,  for  the  time,  after 
the  six  States,  persuading  old  Daniel  to  take  his  native 
Rhode  Island.  "That  woman  beats  all  creation,"  he  was 
heard  to  exclaim,  "  the  way  she  works  all  day  and  goes  on 
at  night  over  her  books."  The  mother  used  to  say  she 
hardly  knew  if  she  were  any  older  than  her  boys  when  they 
were  trying  to  trip  each  other  with  questions.  The  teacher 
of  the  district  school  came  over  one  Saturday  afternoon.  "  I 
never  had  such  pupils,"  said  he,  "  as  your  sons,  in  history ; 
and  indeed  they  want  to  look  into  every  thing."  Afterward 
he  heard  with  delight  the  story  of  their  evening's  work. 
The  deep  snows  often  shut  them  in,  but  the  red  light  shone 
clearly  and  bright  from  that  sitting-room  window,  and  a 
merry  group  were  gathered  around  the  table.  Every  two 
weeks  an  evening  was  given  to  some  journey.  It  was  laid 
out  in  advance,  and  faithfully  studied.  Once,  Theodore 
remembers,  a  shout  of  laughter  was  raised  when  nine  o'clock 
came  by  Jerry's  exclamation,  "  O,  mother,  don't  go  home 
now;  we  are  all  having  such  a  good  time!"  Five  years 
they  lived  in  this  way,  and  almost  entirely  by  themselves. 


A  NOBLE  MOTHER.  261 

They  studied  botany.  She  knew  the  name  of  every  tree 
and  shrub  for  miles  around.  The  little  bovs  made  a  collec- 

J 

tion  of  birds'  eggs,  and  then  began  to  watch  closely  the  habits 
of  the  birds.  It  was  a  pure,  simple  life.  It  would  have  been 
too  wild  and  lonely  but  for  the  charm  of  this  devoted 
mother.  Her  hours  of  loneliness  were  hidden  from  them ; 
but  she  learned  in  an  unusual  degree  to  throw  every  energy 
into  the  day's  work  of  study,  and  create,  as  it  were,  a  fresh 
enthusiasm  for  the  present  hour.  Her  loving  sacrifice  was 
rewarded.  Each  child  made  her  his  peculiar  confidante. 
She  became  the  inspiration  of  his  life. 

English  history  opened  a  wide  field  to  this  family. 
One  afternoon  she  brought  in  Shakespeare  to  prove  some 
historical  question.  It  was  a  rainy  day,  and  the  boys  were 
all  at  home.  Jerry  began  to  read  "Hamlet"  aloud;  it 
proved  a  treasure  that  brought  them  into  a  new  world  of 
delight.  Sometimes  they  took  different  characters  for  rep- 
resentation, and  the  evening  ended  in  a  frolic;  for  good- 
natured  mirth  was  never  repressed. 

First  of  all,  a  preparation  had  been  made  for  the  Sab- 
bath. There  was  a  church  in  this  town,  but  at  a  distance 
of  several  miles,  and  during  many  days  the  roads  were  im- 
passable. She  had  leaned  upon  infinite  Strength,  gathering 
wisdom  through  all  these  experiences.  The  secret  of  many 
a  promise  had  been  revealed  to  her  understanding;  and, 
above  every  thing,  she  desired  that  the  Scriptures  should 
become  precious  to  her  children.  She  took  up  Bible  char- 
acters, bringing  to  bear  the  same  vivid  interest,  the  same 
power  of  making  them  realities. 

These  lessons  were  varied  by  little  sketches  or  reports 
of  one  Sunday  to  be  read  aloud  the  next.  Of  this,  Nate 
took  hold  with  a  special  zest.  None  of  this  family  could 
sing.  She  thought  of  a  substitute.  They  learned  the 


262  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Psalms,  much  of  Isaiah,  and  many  hymns,  repeating  them 
in  concert,  learning  to  count  upon  this  hour  around  the  fire 
as  others  do  upon  their  music.  How  many  of  these  times 
came  to  her  in  after  life — the  vision  of  the  bright  faces  of 
her  boys  as  they  clustered  affectionately  around  her! 

Time  rolled  by.  The  railroad  passed  through.  A  vil- 
lage sprang  up,  and  the  land  was  ready  to  sell.  She  could 
keep  enough  for  her  own  use,  and  the  boys  could  prepare 
for  college.  Thede  and  Nate  went  away  to  school.  The 
old  home  was  kept  bright  and  pleasant;  friends,  new  set- 
tlers, came  in,  and  now  there  was  visiting  and  social  life. 

Jerry  stayed  on  the  farm ;  Theodore  became  a  civil  en- 
gineer; Nate  a  minister;  Johnnie  went  into  business.  Theo- 
dore used  to  say :  "  Mother,  as  I  travel  about,  all  the  stones 
and  the  flowers  make  me  think  of  you.  I  catch  sight  of 
some  rock,  and  stop  to  laugh  over  those  blessed  times." 
Nate  said :  "  Mother,  when  I  am  reading  a  psalm  in  the 
pulpit,  there  always  comes  to  me  a  picture  of  those  old 
evenings,  with  you  in  the  rocking-chair  by  the  firelight,  and 
I  hear  all  your  voices  again."  Johnnie  wrote :  "  Mother,  I 
think  that  every  thing  I  have  has  come  to  me  through 
you."  When  Jerry,  who  remained  faithful  always,  had 
listened  to  his  brothers,  he  put  his  arm  about  her,  saying 
tenderly:  "There  will  never  be  any  body  like  mother 
to  me." 

She  died  at  sixty-five,  very  suddenly.  Only  a  few  hours 
before,  she  had  exclaimed,  as  her  children  all  came  home 
together:  "There  never  were  such  good  boys  as  mine.  You 
have  repaid  me  a  thousand-fold.  God  grant  you  all  happy 
homes."  They  bore  her  coffin  to  the  grave  themselves. 
They  would  not  let  any  other  person  touch  it.  In  the  even- 
ing they  gathered  around  the  old  hearth-stone  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, and  drew  their  chairs  together.  No  one  spoke 


A  NOLLE  MOTHER.  263 

until  Nate  said,  "  Boys,  let  us  pray ;"  and  then,  all  kneel- 
ing around  her  vacant  chair,  he  prayed  that  the  mantle  of 
their  mother  might  fall  upon  them.  They  could  ask  nothing 
beyond  that. 

|>lo  liongep  /Ay  OCvn. 

IN  serving  the  Master  I  love, 

In  doing  his  bidding  each  day, 
The  sweetness  of  bondage  I  prove, 

And  sing,  as  I  go  on  my  way — 
I  never  such  freedom  have  known 
As  now  I'm  no  longer  my  own. 

His  burden  is  easy  to  bear, 
My  own  was  a  mountain  of  lead ; 

His  yoke  it  is  gladness  to  wear, 
My  own  with  my  life-blood  was  red — 

I  never  such  gladness  have  known 

As  now  I'm  no  longer  my  own. 

Discharging  the  duties  I  owe 
To  household  and  neighbor  of  mine, 

The  beauty  of  bondage  I  know, 
And  count  it  as  beauty  divine — 

I  never  such  beauty  have  known 

As  now  I'm  no  longer  my  own. 

And  everywhere,  Master  so  dear, 

A  dutiful  bondman  of  thine, 
All  things  my  possession  appear, 

Their  glory  so  verily  mine — 
I  never  such  glory  have  known 
As  now  I'm  no  longer  my  own. 

My  heart  overflows  with  brave  cheer; 

For  where  is  the  bondage  to  dread, 
As  long  as  the  Master  is  dear, 

And  love  that  is  selfish  is  dead! — 
I  never  such  safety  have  known 
As  now  I'm  no  longer  my  own. 


XXX. 


WHAT  DR.  SARGENT,  OF  THE  HARVARD  GYMNASIUM,  SAYS  ABOUT  IT- 
POINTS  FOR  PARENTS,  TEACHERS,  AND  PUPILS. 


HE  time  is  coming — indeed  has  come — when  every 
writer  will  divide  the  subject  of  education  into 
physical,  moral,  and  intellectual.  We  recognize 
theoretically  that  physical  education  is  the  basis 
of  all  education.  From  the  time  of  Plato  down  to  the  time 
of  Horace  Mann  and  Herbert  Spencer  that  has  been  the 
theory.  It  has  also  been  the  theory  of  German  educators. 
The  idea  that  the  mind  is  a  distinct  entity,  apart  from  the 
body,  was  a  theological  idea  that  grew  out  of  the  reaction 
against  pagan  animalism.  -The  development  of  the  body 
among  the  Greeks  and  Romans  was  followed  by  those  brutal 
exhibitions  of  physical  prowess  in  the  gladiatorial  contests 
where  the  physical  only  was  cultivated  and  honored.  With 
the  dawn  of  Christianity  a  reaction  set  in  against  this  whole 
idea  of  developing  the  body.  They  thought  no  good  could 
come  from  its  supreme  development,  because  they  had  seen 
so  much  evil.  The  priests  represented  the  great  danger 
which  accompanied  this  physical  training  without  moral 
culture,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  were  right  to  a  cer- 
tain degree.  Give  a  man  only  supreme  physical  education, 
without  any  attention  to  the  moral  and  intellectual,  and  he 
will  go  to  pieces  like  our  prize-fighters  and  athletes.  But 
the  Christians  went  to  the  other  extreme.  They  practiced 
the  most  absurd  system  of  asceticism,  depriving  themselves 
of  natural  food  and  rest,  and,  of  course,  the  results  which 
264 


THE  CARE  OF  THE  BODY.  265 

followed  on  a  grand  scale  were  just  what  would  follow  in 
the  individual.  Let  a  person  follow  the  course  they  did, 
denying  himself  necessary  raiment  and  food,  taking  no  exer- 
cise, and  living  in  retirement,  and  nervous  prostration  will 
follow,  and  hysterical  disturbances  and  troubles.  This  re- 
sult in  the  individual  was  found  on  a  large  scale  throughout 
Christendom.  The  idea  that  the  Christians  brought  down 
from  the  very  earliest  dawn  of  Christianity,  that  the  body 
and  soul  are  distinct,  and  that  whatever  is  done  to  mortify 
the  flesh  increases  the  spiritual  life,  has  a  grain  of  truth  in 
it.  There  were  men  in  our  army  who,  half-starved,  marched 
through  the  Southern  swamps  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  They 
imagined  they  were  walking  through  floral  gardens,  with 
birds  flitting  about  and  singing  overhead.  But  it  was  an 
unnatural,  morbid  state.  So  priests  deprived  themselves  of 
food,  and  reduced  themselves  to  the  lowest  extent  physically, 
and  then  saw  visions,  and  were  in  an  exalted  mental  state. 
But  it  was  morbid.  If  a  man  sit  up  till  twelve  o'clock  to 
write  on  a  certain  theme,  he  may  not  have  a  single  idea 
until  that  hour;  but  then  his  mind  begins  to  work,  and  per- 
haps he  can  work  better  than  under  any  other  circumstances. 
But  his  condition  is  abnormal.  It  does  not  represent  the 
man's  true  state  of  health.  He  is  gaining  that  momentary 
advancement  of  power  at  terrible  cost. 

This  disregard  of  physical  conditions  is  giving  rise  to 
national  disturbance.  It  has  thoroughly  worked  itself  iuto 
our  educational  system.  Though  our  schools  profess  to  be 
purely  secular,  they  still  adhere  to  this  old  theological  idea. 
You  can  not  get  teachers  to  enter  with  zest  into  exercises 
for  physical  development,  because  they  think  that  a  man 
who  trains  the  body  must  be  inferior  to  the  man  who  trains 
the  mind.  They  do  not  see  that  the  two  are  closely  allied. 
They  will  tell  you  that  the  time  is  all  apportioned,  so  many 


266  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

V 

hours  for  each  study,  and  that  if  you  take  half  an  hour  out 
for  exercise  the  boy  must  lose  so  much  Latin  or  Greek,  or 
something  else.  The  idea  of  the  high-school  is  to  get  the 
boy  into  college.  They  care  nothing  about  the  condition  of 
the  individual.  The  individual  must  be  sacrificed  to  the 
reputation  of  the  school,  or  of  the  master;  the  standard 
must  be  kept  up.  If  the  master  can  not  get  just  such  a  per- 
centage of  scholars  into  college,  his  own  reputation  and  the 
reputation  of  the  school  are  injured.  If  he  can  get  this 
percentage  into  college,  he  does  not  care  what  becomes  of 
the  individual.  Our  schools  treat  a  boy  as  professional 
trainers  treat  a  man  on  the  field ;  the  only  idea  is  to  make 
the  boy  win  a  certain  prize.  They  do  not  care  any  thing 
about  his  health ;  that  is  nothing  to  them.  Their  reputa- 
tion is  made  upon  the  success  of  the  boy  in  his  entrance  to 
college.  Here  I  have  to  step  in  and  say  to  the  father: 
"  This  boy  must  not  go  any  farther.  His  future  prospects 
ought  not  to  be  sacrificed  in  this  way.  Your  son's  success 
in  life  does  not  depend  upon  his  going  through  the  Latin 
school.  Let  him  step  out  and  take  another  year.  Do  not 
attempt  to  crowd  him."  The  result  of  this  lack  of  attention 
to  physical  training,  even  looking  at  it  from  the  intellectual 
stand-point,  is  fatal.  The  boy  gets  a  disgust  for  study,  as 
one  does  for  any  special  kind  of  food  when  kept  exclusively 
upon  it.  Many  a  fellow  who  stood  high  in  school  breaks 
away  from  books  as  soon  as  he  enters  college,  and  goes  to 
the  other  extreme.  That  is  nature's  method  of  seeking 
relief.  He  has  mental  dyspepsia,  and  every  opportunity 
that  offers  for  physical  play  he  accepts.  He  can  not  help  it, 
and  he  ought  not  to  be  blamed  for  it,  because  it  is  the 
natura  Haw. 

The  laws  of  assimilation  govern  the  brain  as  well  as  the 
body.     You  can  only  store  up  just  about  so  much  matter — 


THE  CARE  OF  THE  BODY.  267 

call  it  educational  material  if  you  will — in  a  given  time. 
If  you  undertake  to  force  the  physical  activity  of  the  brain, 
you  must  supply  it  with  more  nourishment.  If  a  boy  takes 
no  exercise  to  increase  his  appetite,  if  he  does  not  invigorate 
and  nourish  his  blood,  which  supplies  brain  substance,  of 
course  there  is  deterioration.  If  he  has  a  good  stock  of 
reserve  physical  power  he  will  get  on  very  well  for  a  while, 
but  all  at  once  he  will  come  to  a  stop.  How  many  hun- 
dreds of  those  who  stood  well  when  they  entered  college  get 
to  a  certain  point  and  can  get  no  farther,  because  they  have 
not  the  physical  basis.  They  are  like  athletes  who  can  run 
a  certain  speed,  but  can  never  get  beyond  that.  On  the 
other  hand,  men  who  have  had  a  more  liberal  physical 
training  will  go  right  by  them,  though  not  such  good  scholars, 
because  they  have  more  of  a  basis  back  in  the  physical. 

When  these  things  are  fully  appreciated,  the  whole  system 
of  education  will  be  revolutionized.  To  build  the  brain  we 
must  build  the  body.  We  must  not  sacrifice  nerve  tissue 
and  nerve  power  in  physical  training,  as  there  is  danger  of 
doing  if  gymnastics  are  not  guided  by  professional  men. 
But  the  proper  training  of  the  body  should  produce  the 
highest  intellectual  results. 

Certain  parts  of  the  body  bear  certain  relations  to  one 
another.  The  office  of  the  stomach  is  to  supply  the  body 
with  nourishment.  The  office  of  the  heart  is  to  pump  this 
nourishment  over  the  body.  The  office  of  the  lungs  is  to 
feed  the  heart  and  stomach  with  pure  blood.  All  support 
one  another,  and  all  are  dependent  on  each  other.  If  a  boy 
sits  in  a  cramped  position  in  school,  that  interferes  with  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  and  that  with  the  nourishment  of 
the  brain.  You  could  in  this  way  trace  the  cause  of  many 
a  schoolboy's  headache.  Speaking  roughly,  we  might  say 
that  one-half  of  the  school  children  have  a  hollow  at  the 


268  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

bottom  of  the  breast-bone  from  sitting  in  such  positions, 
and  this  depression  interferes  with  digestion.  And  the  mo- 
ment the  stomach  gives  out,  that  aifects  the  whole  physical 
and  mental  condition.  When  nutrition  is  imperfect,  the  ac- 
tion of  the  heart  and  the  distribution  of  the  blood  are  inter- 
fered with. 

The  only  way  to  remedy  these  evils  is  by  popular  edu- 
cation. It  is  of  no  use  to  attempt  to  bring  about  at  once 
any  regular  or  prescribed  system  of  exercise,  requiring  such 
exercises  to  be  carried  out  in  school,  because  our  schools, 
like  our  theaters,  are  what  the  public  make  them.  There  is 
many  a  master  who  knows  he  is  pursuing  the  wrong  course, 
but  he  is  kept  to  it  by  the  anxious  solicitations  of  pa- 
rents who  wish  their  children  kept  up  to  a  certain  rank. 
They  are  forced  to  follow  the  present  system  by  the  inordi- 
nate demands  of  parents.  The  parents  must  be  educated. 
The  father  and  mother  must  be  converted  to  the  necessity, 
the  absolute  necessity  for  success  in  life,  of  physical  culture. 
There  are  plenty  of  men  who  stand  as  political  and  financial 
leaders  who  are  not  highly  educated  men.  A  man  who  has 
the  rudiments  of  education — reading,  writing,  arithmetic — 
with  a  good  physique,  good  health,  a  well-balanced  and  or- 
ganized frame,  brought  into  contact  with  the  world,  stands 
a  better  chance  of  success  than  the  one  who  goes  through 
school  and  takes  a  high  rank  at  the  expense  of  his  physique. 

Let  a  gifted  but  weakly  lawyer  go  into  a  court-room  and 
meet  some  bull-headed  opponent  with  not  half  the  keen  in- 
sight or  knowledge  of  the  law,  but  one  who  has  tenacity, 
ability  to  hold  on,  and  nine  times  out  ten  the  abler  man  of 
the  two- — mentally — goes  home  wearied  and  defeated,  and 
the  other  man  wins  the  case.  Who  are  the  men  prominent 
in  the  pulpit?  Are  they  weak,  puny  men,  or  men  of  phys- 
ique? Who  are  the  leaders  in  the  Churches?  They  are  not 


THE  CARE  OF  THE  BODY.  269 

leaders  on  account  of  their  intellectual  brilliancy,  but  by 
their  wholeness  as  men.  They  find  sympathy  with  the  peo- 
ple because  they  are  good  specimens  of  manhood.  There 
might  be  many  more  such  had  they  been  better  trained. 

The  best  training-school  for  the  body  is  the  gymnasium. 
That  is  the  purpose  of  all  its  appliances  and  apparatus. 
But  it  may  be  dispensed  with  if  one  has  an  adequate  desire 
for  physical  training.  Give  a  boy  to  understand  that  his 
body  is  not  impure  and  vile,  but  that  it  is  as  much  worth 
consideration  as  his  mind,  and  that  if  he  does  not  take  care 
of  his  body  he  can  not  do  any  thing  with  his  mind,  and  ways 
of  physical  training  will  not  be  wanting. 

All  children  should  be  examined  at  intervals  by  a  phy- 
sician, and  a  record  kept  of  their  development.  I  measure 
my  little  boy  every  year.  I  know,  how  he  is  growing.  If 
he  has  been  subject  to  too  much  excitement,  there  will  be 
larger  relative  growth  of  the  head,  and  we  adjust  his  man- 
ner of  life  accordingly.  The  object  of  education  is  to 
develop  the  boy,  not  to  put  him  through  so  much  of  arithmetic 
or  so  much  language.  The  object  is  to  get  out  of  the  boy 
all  there  is  in  him.  The  first  thing,  then,  is  to  have  the 
boy  examined.  If,  instead  of  calling  a  physician  when  the 
children  are  sick,  he  is  called  while  they  are  well,  it  would 
be  much  better.  Is  he  getting  round-shouldered?  Has  he 
a  crook  in  the  back?  Is  he  beginning  to  stoop?  There 
are  many  things  which  can  be  stopped  in  a  child  which  can 
never  be  changed  after  the  habits  are  hardened.  Too  late 
the  parent  may  find  that  his  child  is  incapacitated  for  the 
highest  education,  because  there  is  no  room  for  the  heart  and 
lungs  to  play  their  parts.  The  boy  is  limited  in  his  possi- 
bilities as  a  tree  planted  in  unfavorable  soil  is  limited.  He 
is  stunted.  He  will  reach  a  certain  limit,  and  no  efforts  on 
his  part  will  carry  him  further.  But  if  he  has  been  taken 


270  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

in  hand  in  time,  and  these  suggestions  acted  upon,  different 
results  might  have  been  produced.  These  efforts  to  develop 
the  boy's  body  will  awaken  the  interest  of  the  boy  himself. 
It  does  not  awaken  animalism.  Let  a  man  have  pride  in 
his  body,  and  his  morals  will  look  out  for  themselves.  If  a 
a  boy  is  thus  examined,  and  a  record  kept,  he  will  take  a 
pride  in  keeping  up  his  record.  It  is  not  necessary,  then, 
to  have  appliances.  He  can  make  trees  and  clothes-horses 
and  gates  and  fences  take  their  place.  Teach  him  the  value 
of  such  opportunities.  Teach  him  to  increase  the  capacity 
of  his  lungs  and  heart,  and  what  relation  they  bear  to  the 
brain,  and  thus  awaken  his  interest.  He  will  soon  learn  to 
exercise  in  the  best  way.  When  the  parent  has  to  watch  a 
boy  to  see  that  he  exercises,  exercise  is  of  little  or  no  avail. 
But  let  the  father  and  mother  realize  the  full  value  and  im- 
portance of  the  body,  and  the  results  will  follow  naturally. 
Every  thing  depends  primarily  upon  the  parent.  If  he 
simply  commands  exercise  without  sharing  in  it,  he  is  like  a 
father  who  lectures  his  sons  about  smoking  and  drinking 
while  he  smokes  and  drinks  himself. 

This  is  a  great  field.  It  is  opening  up  broader  every 
day.  I  do  not  know  any  field  where  a  man  can  go  more 
enthusiastically  to  work.  It  affects  not  only  the  physical, 
but  the  moral  condition.  We  have  brought  about  a  higher 
moral  tone  at  Harvard  through  physical  training.  There  is 
less  smoking  and  drinking  by  far  than  before  the  gymna- 
sium was  so  universally  used.  Every  thing  that  develops  the 
whole  man  affects  morals.  Our  Maker  did  not  put  us  here 
merely  to  be  trained  for  somewhere  else.  No  one  can  walk 
through  the  streets  of  Boston  without  feeling  that  there  is 
need  enough  of  work  to  do  right  here,  in  bringing  about  a 
better  condition  of  affairs ;  something  which  shall  be  nearer 
an  ideal  heaven  on  earth. — The  Christian  Union. 


God's  harmony  is  written 
All  through,  in  shining  bars, 
The  soil!  his  love  has  smitten 
As  heaven  is  -writ  with  stars 


XXXI. 

GEG1MA, 


THE   PATRONESS  OF    MUSIC-MYTHS   CONCERNING  THE  ORIGIN    OF 
MUSIC—  ITS  RELATION  TO  WORK  AND  BLESSEDNESS. 


ER  legend  relates  that  about  the  year  230,  which 
would  be  in  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Alexander 
I  Severus,  Cecilia,  a  Roman  lady,  born  of  a  noble 
and  rich  family,  who  in  early  youth  had  been 
converted  to  Christianity,  and  had  made  a  vow  of  perpetual 
virginity,  was  constrained  by  her  parents  to  marry  a  certain 
Valerian,  a  pagan,  whom  she  succeeded  in  converting  to 
Christianity  without  infringing  the  vow  she  had  made.  She 
also  converted  her  brother-in-law,  Tiburtius,  and  a  friend 
called  Maximius,  all  of  whom  were  martyred  in  consequence 
of  their  faith. 

It  is  further  related,  among  other  circumstances  purely 
legendary,  that  Cecilia  often  united  instrumental  music  to 
that  of  her  voice,  in  singing  the  praises  of  the  Lord.  On 
this  all  her  fame  has  been  founded,  and  she  has  become  the 
special  patroness  of  music  and  musicians  all  the  world  over. 
Half  the  musical  societies  of  Europe  have  been  named  after 
her,  and  her  supposed  musical  acquirements  have  led  the 
votaries  of  a  sister  art  to  firrd  subjects  for  their  work  in  epi- 
sodes of  her  life.  The  grand  painting  by  Domenichino,  at 
Bologna,  in  which  the  saint  is  represented  as  rapt  in  an 
ecstasy  of  devotion,  with  a  small  "organ,"  as  it  is  called — an 
instrument  resembling  a  large  kind  of  Pandean  pipes — in  her 
hand,  is  well  known,  as  is  also  Dryden's  beautiful  ode. 
The  illustration  which  accompanies  this  chapter,  after  a 

271 


272  BRAVE  HEX  AND  WOMEN. 

painting  by  one  of  the  brothers  Caracci,  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  represents  Cecilia  at  the  organ.  Borne  heaven- 
ward on  the  tide  of  music,  she  sees  a  vision  of  the  holy 
family,  the  child  Jesus,  Mary,  and  Joseph,  with  an  angel 
near  at  hand  in  quiet  gladness. 

God's  harmony  is  written 

All  through,  in  shining  bars, 
The  sonl  His  love  has  smitten 

As  heaven  is  writ  with  stars. 

MYTHS  CONCERNING  THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC. 

"Music  is  so  delightfully  innocent  and  charming  an  art, 
that  we  can  not  wonder  at  finding  it  almost  universally  re- 
garded as  of  divine  origin.  Pagan  nations  generally  ascribe 
the  invention  of  their  musical  instruments  to  their  gods,  or 
to  certain  superhuman  beings  of  a  godlike  nature.  The  He- 
brews attributed  it  to  man,  but  as  Jubal  is  mentioned  as 
"  the  father  of  all  such  as  handle  the  harp  and  organ  "  only, 
and  as  instruments  of  percussion  were  almost  invariably  in 
use  long  before  people  were  led  to  construct  stringed  and 
wind  instruments,  we  may  suppose  that,  in  the  Biblical  rec- 
ords, Jubal  is  not  intended  to  be  represented  as  the  original 
inventor  of  all  the  Hebrew  instruments,  but  rather  as  a  great 
promoter  of  the  art  of  music. 

"  However,  be  this  as  it  may,  this  much  is  certain :  there 
are  among  Christians  at  the  present  day  not  a  few  sincere 
upholders  of  the  literal  meaning  of  these  records,  who  main- 
tain that  instrumental  music  was  already  practiced  in  heaven 
before  the  creation  of  the  world.  Elaborate  treatises  have 
been  written  on  the  nature  and  effect  of  that  heavenly  mu- 
sic, and  passages  from  the  Bible  have  been  cited  by  the 
learned  authors  which  are  supposed  to  confirm  indisputably 
the  opinions  advanced  in  their  treatises. 

"  It  may,  at  a  first  glance,  appear  singular  that  nations 


SAINT  CECILIA.  273 

have  not,  generally,  such  traditional  records  respecting  the 
originator  of  their  vocal  music  as  they  have  respecting  the 
invention  of  their  musical  instruments.  The  cause  is,  how- 
ever, explicable;  to  sing  is  as  natural  to  man  as  to  speak, 
and  uncivilized  nations  are  not  likely  to  speculate  whether 
singing  has  ever  been  invented. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  recount  here  the  well-known  mytho- 
logical traditions  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  refer- 
ring to  the  origin  of  their  favorite  musical  instruments. 
Suffice  it  to  remind  the  reader  that  Mercury  and  Apollo 
were  believed  to  be  the  inventors  of  the  lyre  and  cithara 
(guitar) ;  that  the  invention  of  the  flute  was  attributed  to 
Minerva,  and  that  Pan  is  said  to  have  invented  the  syrinx. 
More  worthy  of  our  attention  are  some  similar  records  of 
the  Hindoos,  because  they  have  hitherto  scarcely  been  no- 
ticed in  any  work  on  music. 

"I  n  the  mythology  of  the  Hindoos,  the  god  Nareda  is 
the  inventor  of  the  vina,  the  principal  musical  instrument  of 
Hindoostan.  Saraswati,  the  consort  of  Brahma,  may  be  said 
to  be  considered  as  the  Minerva  of  the  Hindoos.  She  is  the 
goddess  of  music  as  well  as  of  speech.  To  her  is  attributed 
the  invention  of  the  systematic  arrangement  of  the  sounds 
into  a  musical  scale.  She  is  represented  seated  on  a  pea- 
cock and  playing  a  stringed  instrument  of  the  guitar  kind. 
Brahma,  himself,  we  find  depicted  as  a  vigorous  man  with 
four  handsome  heads,  beating  with  his  hands  upon  a  small 
drum.  And  Vishnu,  in  his  incarnation  as  Krishna,  is  rep- 
resented as  a  beautiful  youth  playing  upon  a  flute.  The 
Hindoos  still  possess  a  peculiar  kind  of  flute  which  they  con- 
sider as  the  favorite  instrument  of  Krishna.  Furthermore, 
they  have  the  divinity  of  Genesa,  the  god  of  wisdom,  who 
is  represented  as  a  man  with  the  head  of  an  elephant  hold- 
ing in  his  hands  a  tamboura,  a  kind  of  lute  with  a  long  neck. 

18 


274  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  Among  the  Chinese  we  meet  with  a  tradition  according 
to  which  they  obtained  their  musical  scale  from  a  miraculous 
bird  called  Foung-hoang,  which  appears  to  have  been  a  sort 
of  phoenix.  As  regards  the  invention  of  musical  instru- 
ments, the  Chinese  have  various  traditions.  In  one  of 
these  we  are  told  that  the  origin  of  some  of  their  most 
popular  instruments  dates  from  the  period  when  China  was 
under  the  dominion  of  the  heavenly  spirits  called  Ki. 
Another  assigns  the  invention  of  several  of  their  stringed 
instruments  to  the  great  Fohi,  called  the  "  Son  of  Heaven," 
who  was,  it  is  said,  the  founder  of  the  Chinese  Empire,  and 
who  is  stated  to  have  lived  about  B.  C.  3000,  which  was 
long  after  the  dominion  of  the  Ki,  or  spirits.  Again,  another 
tradition  holds  that  the  most  important  Chinese  musical  in- 
struments, and  the  systematic  arrangement  of  the  tones,  are 
an  invention  of  Niuva,  a  supernatural  female,  who  lived  at 
the  time  of  Fohi,  and  who  was  a  virgin-mother.  When 
Confucius,  the  great  Chinese  philosopher,  happened  to  hear, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  some  divine  music,  he  became  so  greatly 
enraptured  that  he  could  not  take  any  food  for  three  months. 
The  music  which  produced  the  miraculous  effect  was  that 
of  Kouei,  the  Orpheus  of  the  Chinese,  whose  performance 
on  the  king,  a  kind  of  harmonicon  constructed  of  slabs  of 
sonorous  stone,  would  draw  wild  animals  around  him  and 
make  them  subservient  to  his  will. 

"The  Japanese  have  a  beautiful  tradition,  according  to 
which  the  Sun-goddess,  in  resentment  of  the  violence  of  an 
evil-disposed  brother,  retired  into  a  cave,  leaving  the  uni- 
verse in  darkness  and  anarchy ;  when  the  beneficent  gods, 
in  their  concern  for  the  welfare  of  mankind,  devised  music 
to  lure  her  forth  from  her  retreat,  and  their  efforts  soon 
proved  successful. 

"The  Kalmucks,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Caspian  Sea,  adore 


SAINT  CECILIA,  275 

a  beneficient  divinity  called  Maidari,  who  is  represented  as  a 
rather  jovial-looking  man,  with  a  mustache  and  imperial, 
playing  upon  an  instrument  with  three  strings,  somewhat  re- 
sembling the  Russian  balalaika. 

"  Almost  all  these  ancient  conceptions  we  meet  with,  also, 
among  European  nations,  though  more  or  less  modified. 

"  Odin,  the  principal  deity  of  the  ancient  Scandinavians, 
was  the  inventor  of  magic  songs  and  Runic  writings. 

"  In  the  Finnish  mythology  the  divine  Vainamoinen  is 
said  to  have  constructed  the  five-stringed  harp,  called 
kantele,  the  old  national  instrument  of  the  Finns.  The 
frame  he  made  out  of  the  bones  of  a  pike,  and  the  teeth  of 
the  pike  he  used  for  the  tuning-pegs.  The  strings  he  made 
of  hair  from  the  tail  of  a  spirited  horse.  When  the  harp 
fell  into  the  sea  and  was  lost,  he  made  another,  the  frame 
of  which  was  birchwood,  with  pegs  made  out  of  the  branch 
of  an  oak-tree.  As  strings  for  this  harp  he  used  the  silky 
hair  of  a  young  girl.  Vainamoinen  took  his  harp,  and  sat 
down  on  a  hill,  near  a  silvery  brook.  There  he  played  with 
so  irresistible  an  effect  that  he  entranced  whatever  came 
within  hearing  of  his  music.  Men  and  animals  listened, 
enraptured;  the  wildest  beasts  of  the  forests  lost  their 
ferocity;  the  birds  of  the  air  were  drawn  toward  him;  the 
fishes  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  water  and  remained  im- 
movable; the  trees  ceased  to  wave  their  branches;  the 
brook  retarded  its  course  and  the  wind  its  haste;  even  the 
mocking  echo  approached  stealthily,  and  listened  with  the 
utmost  attention  to  the  heavenly  sounds.  Soon  the  women 
began  to  cry ;  then  the  old  men  and  the  children  also  began 
to  cry,  and  the  girls  and  the  young  men — all  cried  for 
delight.  At  last  Vainamoinen  himself  wept,  and  his  big 
tears  ran  over  his  beard  and  rolled  into  the  water  and  be- 
came beautiful  pearls  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 


276  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  Several  other  musical  gods,  or  godlike  musicians,  could 
be  cited;  and,  moreover,  innumerable  minor  spirits,  all  bear- 
ing evidence  that  music  is  of  divine  origin. 

"  True,  people  who  think  themselves  more  enlightened 
than  their  forefathers,  smile  at  these  old  traditions,  and  say 
that  the  original  home  of  music  is  the  human  heart.  Be  it 
so.  But  do  not  the  purest  and  most  beautiful  conceptions 
of  man  partake  of  a  divine  character?  Is  not  the  art  of 
music  generally  acknowledged  to  be  one  of  these?  And  is 
it  not,  therefore,  even  independently  of  myths  and  mysteries, 
entitled  to  be  called  the  divine  art?" 

THE  RELATION  OF  MUSIC  TO  WORK  AND  BLESSEDNESS. 

"  Give  us,"  says  Carlyle,  "O,  give  us  the  man  who  sings 
at  his  work!  Be  his  occupation  what  it  may,  he  is  equal  to 
any  of  those  who  follow  the  same  pursuit  in  silent  sullen- 
ness.  He  will  do  more  in  the  same  time — he  will  do  it 
better — he  will  persevere  longer.  One  is  scarcely  sensible 
of  fatigue  whilst  he  marches  to  music.  The  very  stars  are 
said  to  make  harmony  as  they  revolve  in  their  spheres. 
Wondrous  is  the  strength  of  cheerfulness,  altogether  past 
calculation  its  powers  of  endurance.  Efforts,  to  be  perma- 
nently useful,  must  be  uniformly  joyous — a  spirit  all  sun- 
shine—  graceful  from  very  gladness  —  beautiful  because 
bright." 

Again,  this  author  says,  who  had  so  much  music  in 
his  heart,  though  not  of  the  softest  kind — rather  of  the 
epic  sort : 

"  The  meaning  of  song  goes  deep.  Who  is  there  that, 
in  logical  words,  can  express  the  effect  music  has  on  us?  A 
kind  of  inarticulate,  unfathomable  speech,  which  leads  to 
the  edge  of  the  infinite,  and  lets  us  for  moments  gaze  into 
that!" 


SAINT  CECILIA.  277 

The  late  Canon  Kingsley  certainly  conceived  much  of 
the  height  and  depth,  and  length  and  breath  of  song,  when 
he  wrote: 

"  There  is  music  in  heaven,  because  in  music  there  is  no 
self-will.  Music  goes  on  certain  rules  and  laws.  Man  did 
not  make  these  laws  of  music ;  he  has  only  found  them  out ; 
and,  if  he  be  self-willed  and  break  them,  there  is  an  end  of 
his  music  instantly :  all  he  brings  out  is  discord  and  ugly 
sounds.  The  greatest  musician  in  the  world  is  as  much 
bound  by  those  laws  as  the  learner  in  the  school ;  and  the 
greatest  musician  is  one  who,  instead  of  fancying  that  be- 
cause he  is  clever  he  may  throw  aside  the  laws  of  music, 
knows  the  laws  of  music  best,  and  observes  them  most 
reverently.  And  therefore  it  was  that  the  old  Greeks,  the 
wisest  of  the  heathens,  made  a  point  of  teaching  their 
children  music;  because,  they  said,  it  taught  them  not  to  be 
self-willed  and  fanciful,  but  to  see  the  beauty,  the  usefulness 
of  rule,  the  divineness  of  laws.  And,  therefore,  music  is  fit 
for  heaven ;  therefore  music  is  a  pattern  and  type  of  heaven, 
and  of  the  everlasting  life  of  God  which  perfect  spirits  live 
in  heaven  ;  a  life  of  melody  and  order  in  themselves  j  a  life 
of  harmony  with  each  other  and  with  God. 

"  If  thou  fulfillest  the  law  which  God  has  given  thee,  the 
law  of  love  and  liberty,  then  thou  makest  music  before  God, 
and  thy  life  is  a  hymn  of  praise  to  God. 

"  If  thou  act  in  love  and  charity  with  thy  neighbors,  thou 
art  making  sweeter  harmony  in  the  ears  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  than  psaltery,  dulcimer,  and  all  other  kinds  of  music. 

"  If  thou  art  living  a  righteous  and  a  useful  life,  doing 
thy  duty  orderly  and  cheerfully  where  God  has  put  thee, 
then  thou  art  making  sweeter  melody  in  the  ears  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  than  if  thou  hast  the  throat  of  the  night- 
ingale; for  then  thou,  in  thy  humble  place,  art  humbly 


278  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

copying  the  everlasting  harmony  and  melody  by  which  God 
made  the  worlds  and  all  that  therein  is,  and,  behold,  it  was 
very  good,  in  the  day  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together, 
and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  over  the  new-created 
earth,  which  God  made  to  be  a  pattern  of  his  own  per- 
fection." 

The  minstrel's  heart  in  sadness 
Was  wrestling  with  his  fate ; 
"Am  I  the  sport  of  madness," 

He  sighed,  "and  born  too  late?" 

"No  gifts  are  ever  given," 

A  friendly  voice  replied, 
"  On  which  the  smile  of  Heaven 

Does  not  indeed  abide. 

God's  harmony  is  written 

All  through,  in  shining  bars, 
The  soul  his  love  has  smitten, 

As  heaven  is  writ  with  stars. 

The  major  notes  and  minor 

Are  waiting  for  their  wings ; 
Pray  thou  the  great  Diviner 

To  touch  the  secret  springs. 

He  may  not  give  expression 

In  any  ocean-tide, 
But  music,  like  confession, 

Will  waft  thee  to  his  side; 

Where  thou,  as  on  a  river, 

The  current  deep  and  strong, 
Shalt  sail  with  him  forever 

Into  the  land  of  song." 


XXXII. 

8  DE 

(BORN  1786— DIED  1859.) 
A  LIFE  OF  WONDER  AND  WARNING. 


HE  "English  Opium-eater"  himself  told  pub- 
licly, throughout  a  period  of  between  thirty  and 
forty  years,  whatever  is  known  about  him  to  any 
body ;  and  in  sketching  the  events  of  his  life,  the 
recorder  has  little  more  to  do  than  to  indicate  facts  which 
may  be  found  fully  expanded  in  Mr.  De  Quincey's  "  Con- 
fessions of  an  Opium-eater"  and  "Autobiographic  Sketches." 
The  business  which  he,  in  fact,  left  for  others  to  do  is  that 
which,  in  spite  of  obvious  impossibility,  he  was  incessantly 
endeavoring  to  do  himself — that  of  analyzing  and  forming 
a  representation  and  judgment  of  his  mind,  and  of  his  life 
as  molded  by  his  mind.  The  most  intense  metaphysician 
of  a  time  remarkable  for  the  predominance  of  metaphysical 
modes  of  thought,  he  was  as  completely  unaware,  as  smaller 
men  of  his  mental  habits,  that  in  his  perpetual  self-study 
and  analysis  he  was  never  approaching  the  truth,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  he  was  not  even  within  ken  of  the  neces- 
sary point  of  view.  "  I,"  he  says,  "  whose  disease  it  was  to 
meditate  too  much  and  to  observe  too  little."  And  the  de- 
scription was  a  true  one,  as  far  as  it  went.  And  the  com- 
pletion of  the  description  was  one  which  he  could  never 
have  himself  arrived  at.  It  must,  we  think,  be  concluded 
of  De  Qttincey  that  he  was  the  most  remarkable  instance  in 
his  time  of  a  more  than  abnormal,  of  an  artificial,  condition 
of  body  and  mind — a  characterization  which  he  must  neces- 

279 


280  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

sarily  be  the  last  man  to  conceive  of.  To  understand  this, 
it  is  necessary  to  glance  at  the  events  of  his  life.  The 
briefest  notice  will  suffice,  as  they  are  within  the  reach  of 
all,  as  related  in  his  own  books. 

Thomas  De  Quincey  was  the  son  of  a  merchant  engaged 
in  foreign  commerce,  and  was  born  at  Manchester  in  1786. 
He  was  one  of  eight  children,  of  whom  no  more  than  six 
were  ever  living  at  once,  and  several  of  whom  died  in  in- 
fancy. The  survivors  were  reared  in  a  country  home,  the 
incidents  of  which,  when  of  a  kind  to  excite  emotion,  im- 
pressed themselves  on  this  singular  child's  memory  from  a 
very  early  age.  We  have  known  only  two  instances,  in  a 
rather  wide  experience  of  life,  of  persons  distinctly  remem- 
bering so  far  back  as  a  year  and  a  half  old.  This  was  De 
Quincey's  age  when  three  deaths  happened  in  the  family, 
which  he  remembered,  not  by  tradition,  but  by  his  own  con- 
temporary emotions.  A  sister  of  three  and  a  half  died,  and 
he  was  perplexed  by  her  disappearance,  and  terrified  by  the 
household  whisper  that  she  had  been  ill-used  just  before  her 
death  by  a  servant.  A  grandmother  died  about  the  same 
time,  leaving  little  impression,  because  she  had  been  little 
seen.  The  other  death  was  of  a  beloved  kingfisher,  by  a 
doleful  accident.  When  the  boy  was  five,  he  lost  his  play- 
fellow and,  as  he  says,  intellectual  guide,  his  sister  Elizabeth, 
eight  years  old,  dying  of  hydrocephalus,  after  manifesting  an 
intellectual  power  which  the  forlorn  brother  recalled  with 
admiration  and  wonder  for  life.  The  impression  was  un- 
doubtedly genuine ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  read  the  "Auto- 
biographical Sketch"  in  which  the  death  and  funeral  of  the 
child  are  described  without  perceiving  that  the  writer  re- 
ferred back  to  the  period  he  was  describing  with  emotions 
and  reflex  sensations  which  arose  in  him  and  fell  from  the 
pen  at  the  moment.  His  father,  meantime,  was  residing 


THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y.  281 

abroad,  year  after  year,  as  a  condition  of  his  living  at  all ; 
and  he  died  of  pulmonary  consumption  before  Thomas  was 
seven  years  old.  The  elder  brother,  then  twelve,  was  ob- 
viously too  eccentric  for  home  management,  if  not  for  all 
control;  and,  looking  no  further  than  these  constitutional 
cases,  we  are  warranted  in  concluding  that  the  Opium-eater 
entered  life  under  peculiar  and  unfavorable  conditions. 

He  passed  through  a  succession  of  schools,  and  was 
distinguished  by  his  eminent  knowledge  of  Greek.  At  fif- 
teen he  was  pointed  out  by  his  master  (himself  a  ripe 
scholar)  to  a  stranger  in  the  remarkable  words,  "  That  boy 
could  harangue  an  Athenian  mob  better  than  you  or  I  could 
address  an  English  one."  And  it  was  not  only  the  Greek, 
we  imagine,  but  the  eloquence,  too,  was  included  in  this 
praise.  In  this,  as  in  the  subtlety  of  the  analytical  power 
(so  strangely  mistaken  for  entire  intellectual  supremacy  in 
our  day),  De  Quiucey  must  have  strongly  resembled  Cole- 
ridge. Both  were  fine  Grecians,  charming  discoursers,  emi- 
nent opium-takers,  magnificent  dreamers  and  seers ;  large  in 
their  promises,  and  helpless  in  their  failure  of  performance. 
De  Quincey  set  his  heart  upon  going  to  college  earlier  than 
his  guardians  thought  proper;  and, on  his  being  disappointed 
in  this  matter,  he  ran  away  from  his  tutor's  house,  and  was 
lost  for  several  months,  first  in  Wales  and  afterward  in 
London.  He  was  then  sixteen.  His  whole  life  presents  no 
more  remarkable  evidence  of  his  constant  absorption  in  in- 
trospection than  the  fact  that,  while  tortured  with  hunger  in 
the  streets  of  London  for  many  weeks,  and  sleeping  (or 
rather  lying  awake  with  cold  and  hunger)  on  the  floor  of  an 
empty  house,  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  earn  money- 
As  a  classical  corrector  of  the  press,  and  in  other  ways,  he 
might  no  doubt  have  obtained  employment;  but  it  was  not 
till  afterward  asked  why  he  did  not,  that  the  idea  ever 


282  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

entered  his  mind.  How  he  starved,  how  he  would  have  died 
but  for  a  glass  of  spiced  wine  in  the  middle  of  the  night  on 
some  steps  in  Soho  Square,  the  Opium-eater  told  all  the 
world  above  thirty  years  since;  and  also  of  his  entering 
college ;  of  the  love  of  wine  generated  by  the  comfort  it  had 
yielded  in  his  days  of  starvation ;  and  again,  of  the  disorder 
of  the  functions  of  the  stomach  which  naturally  followed, 
and  the  resort  to  opium  as  a  refuge  from  the  pain.  It  is  to 
be  feared  that  the  description  given  in  those  extraordinary 
"Confessions"  has  acted  more  strongly  in  tempting  young 
people  to  seek  the  eight  years'  pleasures  he  derived  from 
laudanum  than  that  of  his  subsequent  torments  in  deterring 
them.  There  was  no  one  to  present  to  them  the  con- 
sideration that  the  peculiar  organization  of  De  Quincey,  and 
his  bitter  sufferings,  might  well  make  a  recourse  to  opium  a 
different  thing  to  him  than  to  any  body  else.  The  quality 
of  his  mind  and  the  exhausted  state  of  his  body  enhanced 
to  him  the  enjoyments  which  he  called  "  divine,"  whereas 
there  is  no  doubt  of  the  miserable  pain  by  which  men  of  all 
constitutions  have  to  expiate  an  habitual  indulgence  in 
opium.  Others  than  De  Quincey  may  or  may  not  procure 
the  pleasures  he  experienced ;  but  it  is  certain  that  every 
one  must  expiate  his  offense  against  the  laws  of  the  human 
frame.  And  let  it  be  remembered  that  De  Quincey's  excuse 
is  as  singular  as  his  excess.  Of  the  many  who  have  emu- 
lated his  enjoyment,  there  can  hardly  have  been  one  whose 
stomach  had  been  well-nigh  destroyed  by  months  of  inces- 
sant, cruel  hunger. 

This  event  of  his  life,  his  resort  to  opium,  absorbed  all 
the  rest.  There  is  little  more  to  tell  in  the  way  of  incident. 
His  existence  was  thenceforth  a  series  of  dreams,  undergone 
in  different  places,  now  at  college,  and  now  in  a  Westmore- 
land cottage,  with  a  gentle,  suffering  wife,  by  his  side,  striv- 


THOMAS  DE  QUJNCEY.  283 

ing  to  minister  to  a  need  which  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
nursing.  He  could  amuse  his  predominant  faculties  by 
reading  metaphysical  philosophy  and  analytical  reasoning 
on  any  subject,  and  by  elaborating  endless  analyses  and  rea- 
sonings of  his  own,  which  he  had  not  energy  to  embody. 
Occasionally  the  torpor  encroached  even  on  his  predominant 
faculties,  and  then  he  roused  himself  to  overcome  the  habit; 
underwent  fearful  suffering  in  the  weaning;  began  to  enjoy 
the  vital  happiness  of  temperance  and  health,  and  then  fell 
back  again.  The  influence  upon  the  moral  energies  of  his 
nature  was,  as  might  be  supposed,  fatal.  Such  energy  he 
once  had,  as  his  earlier  efforts  at  endurance  amply  testify. 
But  as  years  passed  on,  he  had  not  only  become  a  more 
helpless  victim  to  his  prominent  vice,  but  manifested  an  in- 
creasing insensibility  to  the  most  ordinary  requisitions  of 
honor  and  courtesy,  to  say  nothing  of  gratitude  and  sincer- 
ity. In  his  hungry  days,  in  London,  he  would  not  beg  nor 
borrow.  Five  years  later  he  wrote  to  Wordsworth,  in  ad- 
miration and  sympathy;  received  an  invitation  to  his  West- 
moreland Valley ;  went,  more  than  once,  within  a  few  miles, 
and  withdrew  and  returned  to  Oxford,  unable  to  conquer 
his  painful  shyness;  returned  at  last  to  live  there,  in  the 
very  cottage  which  had  been  Wordsworth's;  received  for 
himself,  his  wife,  and  a  growing  family  of  children,  an  un- 
intermitting  series  of  friendly  and  neighborly  offices;  was 
necessarily  admitted  to  much  household  confidence,  and  fa- 
vored with  substantial  aid,  which  was  certainly  not  given 
through  any  strong  liking  for  his  manners,  conversation,  or 
character.  How  did  he  recompense  all  this  exertion  and 
endurance  on  his  behalf?  In  after  years,  when  living  (we 
believe)  at  Edinburgh,  and  pressed  by  debt,  he  did  for  once 
exert  himself  to  write,  and  what  he  wrote  was  an  exposure 
of  every  thing  about  the  Wordsworths  which  he  knew  merely 


284  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

by  their  kindness.  He  wrote  papers,  which  were  eagerly 
read,  and,  of  course,  duly  paid  for,  in  which  Wordsworth's 
personal  foibles  were  malignantly  exhibited  with  ingenious 
aggravations.  The  infirmities  of  one  member  of  the  family, 
the  personal  blemish  of  another,  and  the  human  weaknesses 
of  all,  were  displayed,  and  all  for  the  purpose  of  deepening 
the  dislike  against  Wordsworth  himself,  which  the  receiver 
of  his  money,  the  eater  of  his  dinners,  and  the  dreary  pro- 
voker  of  his  patience  strove  to  excite.  Moreover,  he  per- 
petrated an  act  of  treachery  scarcely  paralleled,  we  hope,  in 
the  history  of  literature.  In  the  confidence  of  their  most 
familiar  days,  Wordsworth  had  communicated  portions  of 
his  posthumous  poem  to  his  guest,  who  was  perfectly  well 
aware  that  the  work  was  to  rest  in  darkness  and  silence  till 
after  the  poet's  death.  In  these  magazine  articles  DeQuincey, 
using  for  this  atrocious  purpose  his  fine  gift  of  memory, 
published  a  passage,  which  he  informed  us  was  of  far  higher 
merit  than  any  thing  else  we  had  to  expect.  And  what  was 
Wordsworth's  conduct  under  this  unequaled  experience  of 
bad  faith  and  bad  feeling?  While  so  many  anecdotes  \vere 
going  of  the  poet's  fireside,  the  following  ought  to  be  added: 
An  old  friend  was  talking  with  him  by  that  fireside,  and 
mentioned  DeQuincey's  magazine  articles.  Wordsworth 
begged  to  be  spared  any  account  of  them,  saying  that  the  man 
had  long  passed  away  from  the  family  life  and  mind,  and 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  ruffle  himself  in  a  useless  way  about 
a  misbehavior  which  could  not  be  remedied.  The  friend 
acquiesced,  saying :  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you  only  one  thing 
that  he  says,  and  then  we  will  talk  of  other  things.  He 
says  your  wife  is  too  good  for  you."  The  old  poet's  dim 
eyes  lighted  up  instantly,  and  he  started  from  his  seat  and 
flung  himself  against  the  mantel-piece,  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
as  he  cried  with  loud  enthusiasm :  "And  that 's  true  !  There 


THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y.  285 

he  is  right !"     And  his  disgust  and  contempt  for  the  traitor 
were  visibly  moderated. 

During  a  long  course  of  years  DeQuincey  went  on  dream- 
ing always,  sometimes  scheming  works  of  high  value  and 
great  efficacy,  which  were  never  to  exist;  promising  largely 
to  booksellers  and  others,  and  failing  through  a  weakness 
so  deep-seated  that  it  should  have  prevented  his  making 
any  promises.  When  his  three  daughters  were  grown  up, 
and  his  wife  was  dead,  he  lived  in  a  pleasant  cottage  at 
Lasswade,  near  Edinburgh,  well-known  by  name  to  those 
who  have  never  seen  its  beauties  as  the  scene  of  Scott's 
early  married  life  and  first  great  achievements  in  literature. 
There,  while  the  family  fortunes  were  expressly  made  con- 
tingent on  his  abstinence  from  his  drug,  DeQuiucey  did  ab- 
stain, or  observe  moderation.  His  flow  of  conversation  was 
then  the  delight  of  old  acquaintance  and  admiring  stran- 
gers, who  came  to  hear  the  charmer  and  to  receive  the  im- 
pression, which  could  never  be  lost,  of  the  singular  figure 
and  countenance  and  the  finely  modulated  voice,  which  were 
like  nothing  else  in  the  world.  It  was  a  strange  thing  to 
look  upon  the  fragile  form  and  features,  which  might  be 
those  of  a  dying  man,  and  to  hear  such  utterances  as  his — 
now  the  strangest  comments  and  insignificant  incidents;  now 
pregnant  remarks  on  great  subjects,  and  then  malignant  gos- 
sip, virulent  and  base,  but  delivered  with  an  air  and  a  voice 
of  philosophical  calmness  and  intellectual  commentary  such 
as  caused  the  disgust  of  the  listener  to  be  largely  qualified 
with  amusement  and  surprise.  One  good  thing  was,  that 
nobody's  name  and  fame  could  be  really  injured  by  any 
thing  DeQuincey  could  say.  There  was  such  a  grotesque  air 
about  the  mode  of  his  evil  speaking,  and  it  was  so  gratui- 
tous and  excessive,  that  the  hearer  could  not  help  regarding 
it  as  a  singular  sort  of  intellectual  exercise,  or  an  effort  in 


286  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  speaker  to  observe,  for  once,  something  outside  of  him- 
self, rather  than  as  any  token  of  actual  feeling  towards  the 
ostensible  object. 

Let  this   strange   commentator  on   individual  character 
meet  with   more  mercy  and  a  wiser  interpretation  than  he 
was  himself  capable  of.     He  was  not  made  like  other  men ; 
and  he  did   not    live,  think,  or  feel  like  them.     A  singular 
organization    was    singularly    and    fatally  deranged    in    its 
action   before   it    could   show  its  best  quality.     Marvelous 
analytical   faculty  he  had ;   but  it  all   oozed  out  in  barren 
words.     Charming   eloquence   he  had ;    but  it  degenerated 
into  egotistical  garrulity,  rendered  tempting  by  the  gilding 
of  his  genius.     It  is  questionable  whether,  if  he  had  never 
touched  opium  or  wine,  his  real   achievements  would  have 
been  substantial,  for   he   had  no  conception  of  a  veritable 
stand-point   of   philosophical  investigation;  but    the  actual 
effect  of  his   intemperance  was   to  aggravate  to  excess   his 
introspective    tendencies,    and    to   remove    him   incessantly 
further   from  the    needful   discipline  of   true  science.     His 
conditions  of  body  and  mind  were  abnormal,  and  his  study 
of  the   one  thing    he   knew  any  thing  about — the   human 
mind — was  radically    imperfect.      His    powers,    noble    and 
charming   as  they  might    have  been,  were  at  once  wasted 
and  weakened  through  their  own  partial  excess.    His  moral 
nature  relaxed  and  sank,  as  must  always  be  the  case  where 
sensibility  is  stimulated  and  action  paralyzed ;  and  the  man 
of  genius  who,  forty  years  before  his  death,  administered  a 
moral  warning   to   all   England,  and  commanded  the  syniT 
pathy   and    admiration  of  a    nation,   lived  on,   to   achieve 
nothing  but  the  delivery  of  some  confidences  of  questionable 
value  and  beauty,  and   to  command  from  us  nothing  more 
than  a  compassionate  sorrow  that  an  intellect  so  subtle  and 
an  eloquence  so  charming  in  its  pathos,  its  humor,  its  in- 


THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY.  287 

sight,  and  its  music,  should  have  left  the  world  in  no  way 
the  better  for  such  gifts,  unless  by  the  warning  afforded  in 
"  Confessions  "  first,  and  then,  by  example,  against  the  curse 
which  neutralized  their  influence  and  corrupted  its  source. — 
HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


XXXIII. 

visi0N  0p  TIME, 

NEW-YEAR'S  EVE. 


DID  you  not  see  him  that  over  the  snow 
Came  on  with  a  pace  so  cautious  and  slow? — 

^      That  measured  his  step  to  a  pendulum-tick, 
Arriving  in  town  when  the  darkness  was  thick  ? 

In  the  midst  of  a  vision  of  mind  and -heart, 
A  drama  above  all  human  art, 

I  saw  him  last  night,  with  locks  so  gray, 
A  long  way  off,  as  the  light  died  away. 

And  I  knew  him  at  once,  so  often  before 
Had  he  silently,  mournfully  passed  at  my  door. 

He  must  be  cold  and  weary,  I  said, 
Coming  so  far,  with  that  measured  tread. 

I  will  urge  him  to  linger  awhile  with  me 
Till  his  withering  chill  and  weariness  flee. 

A  story — who  knows? — he  may  deign  to  rehearse, 
And  when  he  is  gone  I  will  put  it  in  verse. 

I  turned  to  prepare  for  the  coming  guest, 
With  curious,  troublous  thoughts  oppressed. 

The  window  I  cheered  with  the  taper's  glow 
Which  glimmered  afar  o'er  the  spectral  snow. 

My  anxious  care  the  hearth-stone  knew, 

And  the  red  flames  leaped  and  beckoned  anew. 

But  chiefly  myself,  with  singular  care, 
Did  I  for  the  hoary  presence  prepare. 
288 


A  VISION  OF  TIME.  289 

Yet  with  little  success,  as  I  paced  the  room, 
Did  I  labor  to  banish  a  sense  of  gloom. 

My  thoughts  were  going  and  coming  like  bees, 
With  store  from  the  year's  wide-stretching  leas ; 

Some  laden  with  honey,  some  laden  with  gall, 
And  into  my  heart  they  dropped  it  all ! 

O  miserable  heart !  at  once  overrun 

With  the  honey  and  gall  thou  can'st  not  shun. 

0  wretched  heart !  in  sadness  I  cried, 
Where  is  thy  trust  in  the  Crucified  ? 

And  in  wrestling  prayer  did  I  labor  long 
That  the  Mighty  One  would  make  me  strong. 

That  prayer  was  more  than  a  useless  breath: 
It  brought  to  my  soul  God's  saving  health. 

The  hours  went  by  on  their  drowsy  flight, 
And  came  the  middle  watch  of  the  night ; 

In  part  unmanned  in  spite  of  my  care, 

1  beheld  my  guest  in  the  taper's  glare, 

A  wall  of  darkness  around  him  thick, 
As  onward  he  came  to  a  pendulum-tick. 

Then  quickly  I  opened  wide  the  door, 
And  bade  him  pass  my  threshold  o'er, 

And  linger  awhile  away  from  the  cold, 
And  repeat  some  story  or  ballad  old, — 

His  weary  limbs  to  strengthen  with  rest, 
For  his  course  to  the  ever-receding  West. 

Through  the  vacant  door  in  wonder  I  glanced, 
And  stood — was  it  long? — as  one  entranced. 
19 


290  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Silence  so  awful  did  fill  the  room, 

That  the  tick  of  the  clock  was  a  cannon's  boom. 

And  my  heart  it  sank  to  its  lowest  retreat, 
And  in  whelming  awe  did  muffle  its  beat. 

For  now  I  beheld,  as  never  before ; 
And  heard  to  forget — ah,  nevermore! 

For  with  outstretched  hand,  with  scythe  and  glass, 
With  naught  of  a  pause  did  the  traveler  pass. 

And  with  upturned  face  he  the  silence  broke, 
And  thus,  as  he  went,  he  measuredly  spoke: 

My  journey  is  long,  but  my  limbs  are  strong; 
And  I  stay  not  for  rest,  for  story,  or  song. 

It  is  only  a  dirge,  that  ever  I  sing; 

It  is  only  of  death,  the  tale  that  I  bring ; 

Of  death  that  is  life,  as  it  cometh  to  pass ; 
Of  death  that  is  death,  alas!  alas! 

And  these  I  chant,  as  I  go  on  my  way, 
As  I  go  on  my  way  forever  and  aye. 

Call  not  thyself  wretched,  though  bitter  and  sweet 
In  thy  cup  at  this  hour  intermingle  and  meet. 

Some  cloud  with  the  sunshine  must  ever  appear, 
And  darkness  prevails  till  morning  is  near. 

But  who  doth  remember  the  gloom  and  the  night, 
When  the  sky  is  aglow  with  the  beautiful  light? 

O  alas!  if  thou  drinkest  the  bitter  alone, 
Nor  heaven  nor  earth  may  stifle  thy  moan ! 

Thy  moan ! — and  the  echo  died  away — 
Thy  moan!  thy  moan  forever  and  aye! 


A  VISION  OF  TIME.  291 

His  measured  voice  I  heard  no  more  ; 
But  not  till  I  stand  on  eternity's  shore, 

And  the  things  of  time  be  forgotten  all, 
Shall  I  cease  that  traveler's  words  to  recall. 

As  onward  he  moved  to  a  pendulum-tick, 
The  gloom  and  the  darkness  around  him  thick, 

I  fell  on  my  knees  and  breathed  a  prayer ; 
And  it  rose,  I  ween,  through  the  midnight  air, 

To  a  God  who  knoweth  the  wants  and  all 
The  evil  and  good  of  this  earthly  thrall ; 

To  One  who  suffered  as  on  this  day, 
And  began  our  sins  to  purge  away : 

To  Him  who  hath  promised  to  heed  our  cry, 
And  a  troubled  heart  to  purify. 

And  I  feel  that  the  gall  will  ever  grow  less, 
Till  I  see  His  face  in  righteousness. 

And  now  my  soul  is  filled  with  cheer 

For  the  march  of  a  bright  and  happy  New  Year. 

As  years  roll  on,  whether  sun  doth  shine 
Or  clouds  overcast,  I  will  never  repine; 

For  I  know,  when  the  race  of  time  is  run, 
I  shall  enter  a  realm  of  Eternal  Sun. 


XXXIV. 


(BORN  1628— DIED  1688.) 
FROM  DARKNESS  TO  LIGHT. 


[OHN  BUNYAN,  the  most  popular  religious  writer 
in  the  English  language,  was  born  at  Elstow, 
about  a  mile  from  Bedford,  in  the  year  1628.  He 
may  be  said  to  have  been  born  a  tinker.  The 
tinkers  then  formed  a  hereditary  caste,  which  was  held  in  no 
high  estimation.  They  were  generally  vagrants  and  pilfer- 
ers, and  were  often  confounded  with  the  gypsies,  whom,  in 
truth,  they  nearly  resembled.  Bunyan's  father  was  more 
respectable  than  most  of  the  tribe.  He  had  a  fixed  resi- 
dence, and  was  able  to  send  his  son  to  a  village  school, 
where  reading  and  writing  were  taught. 

The  years  of  John's  boyhood  were  those  during  which 
the  Puritan  spirit  was  in  the  highest  vigor  all  over  England; 
and  nowhere  had  that  spirit  more  influence  than  in  Bedford- 
shire. It  is  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that  a  lad  to  whom 
nature  had  given  a  powerful  imagination,  and  sensibility 
which  amounted  to  a  disease,  should  have  been  early  haunted 
by  religious  terrors.  Before  he  was  ten,  his  sports  were  in- 
terrupted by  fits  of  remorse  and  despair;  and  his  sleep  was 
disturbed  by  dreams  of  fiends  trying  to  fly  away  with  him. 
As  he  grew  older,  his  mental  conflicts  became  still  more  vio- 
lent. The  strong  language  in  which  he  described  them  has 
strangely  misled  all  his  biographers  except  Mr.  Southey.  It 
has  long  been  an  ordinary  practice  with  pious  writers  to  cite 
Bunyan  as  an  instance  of  the  supernatural  power  of  divine 
292 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  293 

grace  to  rescue  the  human  soul  from  the  lowest  depths  of 
wickedness.     He  is  called  in  one  book  the  most  notorious 
of  profligates;    in    another,  the   brand   plucked   from    the 
burning.     He  is  designated  in  Mr.  Ivimey's  "  History  of  the 
Baptists"  as  the  depraved   Bunyan,  the  wicked  tinker  of 
Elstow.     Mr.  Ryland,  a  man  once  of  great  note  among  the 
Dissenters,  breaks  out  into  the  following  rhapsody :    "  Xo 
man  of  common  sense  and  common  integrity  can  deny  that 
Bunyan  was  a  practical  atheist,  a  worthless,  contemptible  in- 
fidel, a  vile  rebel  to  God  and  goodness,  a  common  profligate, 
a  soul-despising,  a  soul-murdering,  a  soul-damning,  thought- 
less wretch  as  could  exist  on  the  face  of  the  earth.     Now, 
be  astonished,  O  heavens,  to  eternity !  and  wonder,  O  earth 
and  hell,  while  time    endures!     Behold  this  very  man  be- 
come a  miracle  of  mercy,  a  mirror  of  wisdom,  goodness, 
holiness,  truth,  and  love."    But  whoever  takes  the  trouble  to 
examine  the  evidence,  will  find  that  the  good  men  who 
wrote  this  had  been  deceived  by  a  phraseology  which,  as 
they  had  been  hearing  it  and  using  it  all  their  lives,  they 
ought  to  have  understood  better.     There  can  not  be  a  greater 
mistake  than  to  infer,  from  the  strong  expressions  in  which 
a  devout  man  bemoans  his  exceeding  siufulness,  that  he  has 
led  a  worse  life  than  his  neighbors.    Many  excellent  persons, 
whose  moral  character  from  boyhood  to  old  age  has  been 
free   from   any  stain    discernible   to   their   fellow-creatures, 
have,  in  their  autobiographies  and  diaries,  applied  to  them- 
selves, and  doubtless  with  sincerity,  epithets  as  severe  as 
could  be  applied  to  Titus  Gates  or  Mrs.  Brownrigg.     It  is 
quite  certain  that  Bunyan  was,  at  eighteen,  what,  in  any  but 
the  most  austerely  Puritan  circles,  would  have  been  consid- 
ered as  a  young  man  of  singular  gravity  and   innocence. 
Indeed,  it  may  be  remarked  that  he,  like  many  other  peni- 
tents who,  in  general  terms,  acknowledged   themselves   to 


294  BRA  VE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

have  been  the  worst  of  mankind,  fired  up  and  stood  vigor- 
ously on  his  defense  whenever  any  particular  charge  was 
brought  against  him  by  others.  He  declares,  it  is  true,  that 
he  had  let  loose  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  his  lusts,  that  he 
had  delighted  in  all  transgressions  against  the  divine  law, 
and  that  he  had  been  the  ringleader  of  the  youth  of  Elstow 
in  all  manner  of  vice.  But,  when  those  who  wished  him  ill 
accused  him  of  licentious  amours,  he  called  on  God  and  the 
augels  to  attest  his  purity.  No  woman,  he  said,  in 
heaven,  earth,  or  hell  could  charge  him  with  having  ever 
made  any  improper  advances  to  her.  Not  only  had  he  been 
strictly  faithful  to  his  wife,  but  he  had,  even  before  mar- 
riage, been  perfectly  spotless.  It  does  not  appear  from  his 
own  confessions,  or  from  the  railings  of  his  enemies,  that  he 
ever  was  drunk  in  his  life.  One  bad  habit  he  contracted, 
that  of  using  profane  language;  but  he  tells  us  that  a  single 
reproof  cured  him  so  effectually  that  he  never  offended 
again.  The  worst  that  can  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  this 
poor  youth,  whom  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  represent  as  the 
most  desperate  of  reprobates,  as  a  village  Rochester,  is  that 
he  had  a  great  liking  for  some  diversions,  quite  harmless  in 
themselves,  but  condemned  by  the  rigid  precisians  among 
whom  he  lived,  and  for  whose  opinion  he  had  a  great  re- 
spect. The  four  chief  sins  of  which  he  was  guilty  were 
dancing,  ringing  the  bells  of  the  parish  church,  playing  at 
tip-cat,  and  reading  the  "History  of  Sir  Bevis  of  Southamp- 
ton." A  rector  of  the  school  of  Laud  would  have  held 
such  a  young  man  up  to  the  whole  parish  as  a  model.  But 
Bunyan's  notions  of  good  and  evil  had  been  learned  in  a 
very  different  school ;  and  he  was  made  miserable  by  the 
conflict  between  his  tastes  and  his  scruples. 

When  he  was  about  seventeen,  the  ordinary  course  of  his 
life  was  interrupted  by  an  event  which  gave  a  lasting  color 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  295 

to  his  thoughts.  He  enlisted  in  the  Parliamentary  army, 
and  served  during  the  decisive  campaign  of  1645.  All  that 
we  know  of  his  military  career  is  that,  at  the  siege  of 
Leicester,  one  of  his  comrades,  who  had  taken  his  post,  was 
killed  by  a  shot  from  the  town.  Bunyan  ever  after  con- 
sidered himself  as  having  been  saved  from  death  by  the 
special  interference  of  Providence.  It  may  be  observed 
that  his  imagination  was  strongly  impressed  by  the  glimpse 
which  he  had  caught  of  the  pomp  of  war.  To  the  last  he 
loved  to  draw  his  illustrations  of  sacred  things  from  camps 
and  fortresses,  from  guns,  drums,  trumpets,  flags  of  truce, 
and  regiments  arrayed,  each  under  its  own  banner.  His 
Greatheart,  his  Captain  Boanerges,  and  his  Captain  Credence 
are  evidently  portraits,  of  which  the  originals  were  among 
those  martial  saints  who  fought  and  expounded  in  Fairfax's 
army. 

In  a  few  months  Bunyan  returned  home  and  married. 
His  wife  had  some  pious  relations,  and  brought  him  as  her 
only  portion  some  pious  books.  And  now  his  mind,  excit- 
able by  nature,  very  imperfectly  disciplined  by  education, 
and  exposed,  without  any  protection,  to  the  infectious  viru- 
lence of  the  enthusiasm  which  was  then  epidemic  in  England, 
began  to  be  fearfully  disordered.  In  outward  things  he 
soon  became  a  strict  Pharisee.  He  was  constant  in  attend- 
ance at  prayers  and  sermons.  His  favorite  amusements 
were,  one  after  another,  relinquished,  though  not  without 
many  painful  struggles.  In  the  middle  of  a  game  at  tip-cat 
he  paused,  and  stood  staring  wildly  upward  with  his  stick  in 
his  hand.  He  had  heard  a  voice  asking  him  whether  he 
would  leave  his  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or  keep  his  sins  and 
go  to  hell ;  and  he  had  seen  an  awful  countenance  frowning 
on  him  from  the  sky.  The  odious  vice  of  bell-ringing  he 
renounced;  but  he  still  for  a  time  ventured  to  go  to  the 


296  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

church-tower  and  look  on  while  others  pulled  the  ropes. 
But  soon  the  thought  struck  him  that,  if  he  persisted  in 
such  wickedness,  the  steeple  would  fall  on  his  head ;  and  he 
fled  in  terror  from  the  accursed  place.  To  give  up  dancing 
on  the  village  green  was  still  harder;  and  some  months 
elapsed  before  he  had  the  fortitude  to  part  with  this  darling 
sin.  When  this  last  sacrifice  had  been  made,  he  was,  even 
when  tried  by  the  maxims  of  that  austere  time,  faultless. 
All  Elstow  talked  of  him  as  an  eminently  pious  youth. 
But  his  own  mind  was  more  unquiet  than  ever.  Having 
nothing  more  to  do  in  the  way  of  visible  reformation,  yet 
finding  in  religion  no  pleasures  to  supply  the  place  of  the 
juvenile  amusements  which  he  had  relinquished,  he  began 
to  apprehend  that  he  lay  under  some  special  malediction; 
and  he  was  tormented  by  a  succession  of  fantasies  which 
seemed  likely  to  drive  him  to  suicide  or  to  Bedlam. 

At  one  time  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  all  persons  of 
Israelite  blood  would  be  saved,  and  tried  to  make  out  that 
he  partook  of  that  blood ;  but  his  hopes  were  speedily  de- 
stroyed by  his  father,  who  seems  to  have  had  no  ambition 
to  be  regarded  as  a  Jew. 

At  another  time,  Bunyan  was  disturbed  by  a  strange  di- 
lemma: "If  I  have  not  faith,  I  am  lost;  if  I  have  faith, 
I  can  work  miracles."  He  was  tempted  to  cry  to  the  pud- 
dles between  Elstow  and  Bedford,  "  Be  ye  dry,"  and  to 
stake  his  eternal  hopes  on  the  event. 

Then  he  took  up  a  notion  that  the  day  of  grace  for  Bed- 
ford and  the  neighboring  villages  was  passed;  that  all  who 
were  to  be  saved  in  that  part  of  England  were  already  con- 
verted ;  and  that  he  had  begun  to  pray  and  strive  some 
months  too  late. 

Then  he  was  harassed  by  doubts  whether  the  Turks 
were  not  in  the  right,  and  the  Christians  in  the  wrong. 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  297 

Then  he  was  troubled  by  a  maniacal  impulse  which 
prompted  him  to  pray  to  the  trees,  to  a  broomstick,  to  the 
parish  bull.  As  yet,  however,  he  was  only  entering  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  Soon  the  darkness  grew 
thicker.  Hideous  forms  floated  before  him.  Sounds  of 
cursing  and  wailing  were  in  his  ears.  His  way  ran  through 
stench  and  fire,  close  to  the  mouth  of  the  bottomless  pit. 
He  began  to  be  haunted  by  a  strange  curiosity  about  the 
unpardonable  sin,  and  by  a  morbid  longing  to  commit  it. 
But  the  most  frightful  of  all  the  forms  which  his  disease 
took  was  a  propensity  to  utter  blasphemy,  and  especially  to 
renounce  his  share  in  the  benefits  of  the  redemption.  Night 
and  day,  in  bed,  at  table,  at  work,  evil  spirits,  as  he  imag- 
ined, were  repeating  close  to  his  ear  the  words,  "Sell  him! 
sell  him!"  He  struck  at  the  hobgoblins;  he  pushed  them 
from  him ;  but  still  they  were  ever  at  his  side.  He  cried 
out  in  answer  to  them,  hour  after  hour,  "  Never,  never !  not 
for  thousands  of  worlds — not  for  thousands!"  At  length, 
worn  out  by  this  long  agony,  he  suffered  the  fatal  words  to 
escape  him,  "  Let  him  go,  if  he  will."  Then  his  misery 
became  more  fearful  than  ever.  He  had  done  what  could 
not  be  forgiven.  He  had  forfeited  his  part  of  the  great 
sacrifice.  Like  Esau,  he  had  sold  his  birthright,  and  there 
was  no  longer  any  place  for  repentance.  "  None,"  he  after- 
ward wrote,  "  knows  the  terrors  of  those  days  but  myself." 
He  has  described  his  sufferings  with  singular  energy,  sim- 
plicity, and  pathos.  He  envied  the  brutes;  he  envied  the 
very  stones  in  the  street,  and  the  tiles  on  the  houses.  The 
sun  seemed  to  withhold  its  light  and  warmth  from  him. 
His  body,  though  cast  in  a  sturdy  mould,  and  though  still 
in  the  highest  vigor  of  youth,  trembled  whole  days  together 
with  the  fear  of  death  and  judgment.  He  fancied  that  this 
trembling  was  the  sign  set  on  the  worst  reprobates,  the  sign 


298  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

which  God  had  put  on  Cain.  The  unhappy  man's  emotion 
destroyed  his  power  of  digestion.  He  had  such  pains  that 
he  expected  to  burst  asunder  like  Judas,  whom  he  regarded 
as  his  prototype. 

Neither  the  books  which  Bunyan  read  nor  the  advisers 
whom  he  consulted  were  likely  to  do  much  good  in  a  case 
like  his.  His  small  library  had  received  a  most  unseason- 
able addition — the  account  of  the  lamentable  end  of  Francis 
Spira.  One  ancient  man  of  high  repute  for  piety,  whom  the 
sufferer  consulted  gave  an  opinion  which  might  well  have 
produced  fatal  consequences.  "I  am  afraid,"  said  Bunyan, 
"that  I  have  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost." 
"  Indeed,"  said  the  old  fanatic,  "  I  am  afraid  that  you  have." 

At  length  the  clouds  broke;  the  light  became  clearer  and 
clearer,  and  the  enthusiast,  who  had  imagined  that  he  was 
branded  with  the  mark  of  the  first  murderer,  and  destined 
to  the  end  of  the  arch-traitor,  enjoyed  peace  and  a  cheerful 
confidence  in  the  mercy  of  God.  Years  elapsed,  however, 
before  his  nerves,  which  had  been  so  perilously  over- 
strained, recovered  their  tone.  When  he  had  joined  a  Bap- 
tist society  at  Bedford,  and  was  for  the  first  time  admitted 
to  partake  of  the  Eucharist,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
could  refrain  from  imprecating  destruction  on  his  brethren 
while  the  cup  was  passing  from  hand  to  hand.  After  he 
had  been  some  time  a  member  of  the  congregation  he  began 
to  preach ;  and  his  sermons  produced  a  powerful  effect.  He 
was,  indeed,  illiterate;  but  he  spoke  to  illiterate  men.  The 
severe  training  through  which  he  had  passed  had  given  him 
such  an  experimental  knowledge  of  all  the  modes  of  relig- 
ious melancholy  as  he  could  never  have  gathered  from 
books;  and  his  vigorous  genius,  animated  by  a  fervent 
spirit  of  devotion,  enabled  him  not  only  to  exercise  a  great 
influence  over  the  vulgar,  but  even  to  extort  the  half-con- 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  299 

temptuous  admiration  of  scholars.  Yet  it  was  long  before 
he  ceased  to  be  tormented  by  an  impulse  which  urged  him 
to  utter  words  of  horrible  impiety  in  the  pulpit. 

Counter-irritants  are  of  as  great  use  in  moral  as  in 
physical  diseases.  It  should  seem  that  Bunyan  was  finally 
relieved  from  the  internal  sufferings  which  had  embittered 
his  life  by  sharp  persecution  from  without.  He  had  been 
five  years  a  preacher  when  the  Restoration  put  it  in  the 
power  of  the  Cavalier  gentlemen  and  clergymen  all  over  the 
country  to  oppress  the  Dissenters ;  and,  of  all  the  Dissenters 
whose  history  is  known  to  us,  he  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
hardly  treated.  In  November,  1660,  he  was  flung  into  Bed- 
ford jail;  and  there  he  remained,  with  some  intervals  of 
partial  and  precarious  liberty,  during  twelve  years.  His 
persecutors  tried  to  extort  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would 
abstain  from  preaching;  but  he  was  convinced  that  he  was 
divinely  set  apart  and  commissioned  to  be  a  teacher  of 
righteousness,  and  he  was  fully  determined  to  obey  God 
rather  than  man.  He  was  brought  before  several  tribunals, 
laughed  at,  caressed,  reviled,  menaced,  but  in  vain.  He 
was  facetiously  told  that  he  was  quite  right  in  thinking  that 
he  ought  not  to  hide  his  gift ;  but  that  his  real  gift  was  skill 
in  repairing  old  kettles.  He  was  compared  to  Alexander 
the  coppersmith.  He  was  told  that,  if  he  would  give  up 
preaching,  he  should  be  instantly  liberated.  He  was  warned 
that,  if  he  persisted  in  disobeying  the  law,  he  would  be 
liable  to  banishment;  and  that  if  he  were  found  in  England 
after  a  certain  time,  his  neck  would  be  stretched.  His 
answer  was,  "  If  you  let  me  out  to-day,  I  will  preach  again 
to-morrow."  Year  after  year  he  lay  patiently  in  a  dungeon, 
compared  with  which  the  worst  prison  now  to  be  found  in 
the  island  is  a  palace.  His  fortitude  is  the  more  extraor- 
dinary because  his  domestic  feelings  were  unusually  strong. 


300  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Indeed,  he  was  considered  by  his  stern  brethren  as  some- 
what too  fond  and  indulgent  a  parent.  He  had  several 
small  children,  and  among  them  a  daughter  who  was  blind, 
and  whom  he  loved  with  peculiar  tenderness.  He  could 
not,  he  said,  bear  even  to  let  the  wind  blow  on  her ;  and 
now  she  must  suffer  cold  and  hunger,  she  must  beg,  she 
must  be  beaten.  "  Yet,"  he  added,  "  I  must,  I  must  do  it." 
While  he  lay  in  prison,  he  could  do  nothing  in  the  way  of 
his  old  trade  for  the  support  of  his  family.  He  determined, 
therefore,  to  take  up  a  new  trade.  He  learned  to  make 
long  tagged  thread-laces ;  and  many  thousands  of  these 
articles  were  furnished  by  him  to  the  hawkers.  While  his 
hands  were  thus  busied,  he  had  other  employment  for  his 
mind  and  his  lips.  He  gave  religious  instruction  to  his 
fellow-captives,  and  formed  from  among  them  a  little  flock, 
of  which  he  was  himself  the  pastor.  He  studied  indefati- 
gably  the  few  books  which  he  possessed.  His  two  chief 
companions  were  the  Bible  and  Fox's  "  Book  of  Martyrs." 
His  knowledge  of  the  Bible  was  such  that  he  might  have 
been  called  a  living  concordance;  and  on  the  margin  of  his 
copy  of  the  "  Book  of  Martyrs "  are  still  legible  the  ill- 
spelled  lines  of  doggerel  in  which  he  expressed  his  rever- 
ence for  the  brave  sufferers,  and  his  implacable  enmity  to 
the  mystical  Babylon. 

At  length  he  began  to  write,  and  though  it  was  some 
time  before  he  discovered  where  his  strength  lay,  his  writ- 
ings were  not  unsuccessful.  They  were  coarse,  indeed,  but 
they  showed  a  keen  mother-wit,  a  great  command  of  the 
homely  mother-tongue,  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  En- 
glish Bible,  and  a  vast  and  dearly  bought  spiritual  experience. 
They,  therefore,  when  the  corrector  of  the  press  had  im- 
proved the  syntax  and  the  spelling,  were  well  received  by 
the  humbler  class  of  Dissenters. 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  301 

Much  of  Bunyan's  time  was  spent  in  controversy.  He 
wrote  sharply  against  the  Quakers,  whom  he  seems  always 
to  have  held  in  utter  abhorrence.  It  is,  however,  a  remark- 
able fact  that  he  adopted  one  of  their  peculiar  fashions  ;  his 
practice  was  to  write,  not  November  or  December,  but 
eleventh  month  and  twelfth  month. 

He  wrote  against  the  liturgy  of  the  Church  of  England. 
No  two  things,  according  to  him,  had  less  affinity  than  the 
form  of  prayer  and  the  spirit  of  prayer.  Those,  he  said 
with  much  point,  who  have  most  of  the  spirit  of  prayer  are 
all  to  be  found  in  jail;  and  those  who  have  most  zeal  for 
the  form  of  prayer  are  all  to  be  found  at  the  ale-house. 
The  doctrinal  articles,  on  the  other  hand,  he  warmly  praised, 
and  defended  against  some  Arminian  clergymen  who  had 
signed  them.  The  most  acrimonious  of  all  his  works  is  his 
answer  to  Edward  Fowler,  afterward  bishop  of  Gloucester, 
an  excellent  man,  but  not  free  from  the  taint  of  Pelagianism. 

Bunyan  had  also  a  dispute  with  some  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  sect  to  which  he  belonged.  He  doubtless  held  with 
perfect  sincerity  the  distinguishing  tenet  of  that  sect,  but 
he  did  not  consider  that  tenet  as  one  of  high  importance, 
and  willingly  joined  in  communion  with  pious  Presbyterians 
and  Independents.  The  sterner  Baptists,  therefore,  loudly 
pronounced  him  a  false  brother.  A  controversy  arose  which 
long  survived  the  original  combatants.  In  our  own  time 
the  cause  which  Bunyau  had  defended  with  rude  logic  and 
rhetoric  against  Kiffin  and  Danvers  was  pleaded  by  Kobert 
Hall  with  an  ingenuity  and  eloquence  such  as  no  polemical 
writer  has  ever  surpassed. 

During  the  years  which  immediately  followed  the  Res- 
toration Bunyan's  confinement  seems  to  have  been  strict; 
but  as  the  passions  of  1660  cooled,  as  the  hatred  with  which 
the  Puritans  had  been  regarded  while  their  reign  was  re- 


302  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

cent  gave  place  to  pity,  he  was  less  and  less  harshly  treated. 
The  distress  of  his  family,  and  his  own  patience,  courage, 
and  piety,  softened  the  hearts  of  his  persecutors.  Like  his 
own  Christian  in  the  cage,  he  found  protectors  even  among 
the  crowd  of  Vanity  Fair.  The  bishop  of  the  diocese,  Dr. 
Barlow,  is  said  to  have  interceded  for  him.  At  length  the 
prisoner  was  suffered  to  pass  most  of  his  time  beyond  the 
walls  of  the  jail,  on  condition,  as  it  should  seem,  that  he 
remained  within  the  town  of  Bedford. 

He  owed  his  complete  liberation  to  one  of  the  worst  acts 
of  one  of  the  worst  governments  that  England  has  ever  seen. 
In  1671  the  Cabal  was  in  power.  Charles  II  had  con- 
cluded the  treaty  by  which  he  bound  himself  to  set  up  the 
Roman  Catholic  religion  in  England.  The  first  step  which 
he  took  toward  that  end  was  to  annul,  by  an  unconstitu- 
tional exercise  of  his  prerogative,  all  the  penal  statutes 
against  the  Roman  Catholics;  and  in  order  to  disguise  his 
real  design,  he  annulled  at  the  same  time  the  penal  statutes 
against  Protestant  Non-conformists.  Bunyan  was  conse- 
quently set  at  large.  In  the  first  warmth  of  his  gratitude, 
he  published  a  tract  in  which  he  compared  Charles  to  that 
humane  and  generous  Persian  king  who,  though  not  himself 
blessed  with  the  light  of  the  true  religion,  favored  the  chosen 
people,  and  permitted  them,  after  years  of  captivity,  to  re- 
build their  beloved  temple.  To  candid  men,  who  consider 
how  much  Bunyan  had  suffered,  and  how  little  he  could 
guess  the  secret  designs  of  the  court,  the  unsuspicious  thank- 
fulness with  which  he  accepted  the  precious  boon  of  free- 
dom will  not  appear  to  require  any  apology. 

Before  he  left  his  prison  he  had  begun  the  book  which 
has  made  his  name  immortal.  The  history  of  that  book  is 
remarkable.  The  author  was,  as  he  tells  us,  writing  a  treat- 
ise, in  which  he  had  occasion  to  speak  of  the  stages  of  the 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  303 

Christian  progress.  He  compared  that  progress,  as  many 
others  had  compared  it,  to  a  pilgrimage.  Soon  his  quick 
wit  discovered  innumerable  points  of  similarity  which  had 
escaped  his  predecessors.  Images  came  crowding  on  his 
mind  faster  than  he  could  put  them  into  words:  quagmires 
and  pits,  steep  hills,  dark  and  horrible  glens,  soft  vales, 
sunny  pastures;  a  gloomy  castle,  of  which  the  court-yard 
was  strewn  with  the  skulls  and  bones  of  murdered  prison- 
ers; a  town  all  bustle  and  splendor,  like  London  on  the 
Lord  Mayor's  Day ;  and  the  narrow  path,  straight  as  a  rule 
could  make  it,  running  on  uphill  and  down  hill,  through 
city  and  through  wilderness,  to  the  Black  River  and  the 
Shining  Gate.  He  had  found  out — as  most  people  would 
have  said,  by  accident ;  as  he  would  doubtless  have  said,  by 
the  guidance  of  Providence — where  his  powers  lay.  He  had 
no  suspicion,  indeed,  that  he  was  producing  a  masterpiece. 
He  could  not  guess  what  place  his  allegory  would  occupy 
in  English  literature,  for  of  English  literature  he  knew  noth- 
ing. Those  who  suppose  him  to  have  studied  the  "Fairy 
Queen,"  might  easily  be  confuted,  if  this  were  the  proper 
place  for  a  detailed  examination  of  the  passages  in  which 
the  two  allegories  have  been  thought  to  resemble  each  other. 
The  only  work  of  fiction,  in  all  probability,  with  which  he 
could  compare  his  pilgrim,  was  his  old  favorite,  the  legend 
of  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton.  He  would  have  thought  it  a 
sin  to  borrow  any  time  from  the  serious  business  of  his  life, 
from  his  expositions,  his  controversies,  and  his  lace  tags,  for 
the  purpose  of  amusing  himself  with  what  he  considered 
merely  as  a  trifle.  It  was  only,  he  assures  us,  at  spare  mo- 
ments that  he  returned  to  the  House  Beautiful,  the  Delecta- 
ble Mountains,  and  the  Enchanted  Ground.  He  had  no 
assistance.  Nobody  but  himself  saw  a  line  till  the  whole 
was  complete.  He  then  consulted  his  pious  friends.  Some 


304  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

were  pleased.  Others  were  much  scandalized.  It  was  a 
vain  story,  a  mere  romance  about  giants,  and  lions,  and  gob- 
lins, and  warriors,  sometimes  fighting  with  monsters,  and 
sometimes  regaled  by  fair  ladies  in  stately  palaces.  The 
loose,  atheistical  wits  at  Will's  might  write  such  stuff  to  di- 
vert the  painted  Jezebels  of  the  court;  but  did  it  become  a 
minister  of  the  Gospel  to  copy  the  evil  fashions  of  the 
world  ?  There  had  been  a  time  when  the  cant  of  such  fools 
would  have  made  Bunyan  miserable.  But  that  time  was 
passed,  and  his  mind  was  now  in  a  firm  and  healthy  state. 
He  saw  that  in  employing  fiction  to  make  truth  clear  and 
goodness  attractive,  he  was  only  following  the  example  which 
every  Christian  ought  to  propose  to  himself;  and  he  deter- 
mined to  print. 

The  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  stole  silently  into  the  world. 
Not  a  single  copy  of  the  first  edition  is  known  to  be  in  ex- 
istence. The  year  of  publication  has  not  been  ascertained. 
It  is  probable  that  during  some  months,  the  little  volume 
circulated  only  among  poor  and  obscure  sectaries.  But  soon 
the  irresistible  charm  of  a  book  which  gratified  the  imag- 
ination of  the  reader  with  all  the  action  and  scenery  of  a 
fairy  tale,  which  exercised  his  ingenuity  by  setting  him  to 
discover  a  multitude  of  curious  analogies,  which  interested 
his  feelings  for  human  beings,  frail  like  himself,  and  strug- 
gling with  temptations  from  within  and  from  without,  which 
every  moment  drew  a  smile  from  him  by  some  stroke  of 
quaint  yet  simple  pleasantry,  and  nevertheless  left  on  his 
mind  a  sentiment  of  reverence  for  God  and  of  sympathy  for 
man,  began  to  produce  its  effect.  In  Puritanical  circles, 
from  which  plays  and  novels  were  strictly  excluded,  that 
effect  was  such  as  no  work  of  genius,  though  it  were  supe- 
rior to  the  "Iliad,"  to  "Don  Quixote,"  or  to  "Othello," 
can  ever  produce  on  a  mind  accustomed  to  indulge  in  lit- 


JOHN  BUN YAN.  305 

erary  luxury.  In  1668  came  forth  a  second  edition,  with 
additions;  and  then  the  demand  became  immense.  In  the 
four  following  years  the  book  was  reprinted  six  times.  The 
eighth  edition,  which  contains  the  last  improvements  made 
by  the  author,  was  published  in  1682,  the  ninth  in  1684, 
the  tenth  in  1685.  The  help  of  the  engraver  had  early  been 
called  in,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  children  looked  with 
terror  and  delight  on  execrable  copperplates,  which  repre- 
sented Christian  thrusting  his  sword  into  Apollyon  or  writh- 
ing in  the  grasp  of  Giant  Despair.  In  Scotland  and  in  some 
of  the  colonies,  the  Pilgrim  was  even  more  popular  than  in 
his  native  country.  Bunyan  has  told  us,  with  very  pardon- 
able vanity,  that  in  New  England  his  Dream  was  the  daily  sub- 
ject of  the  conversation  of  thousands,  and  was  thought  worthy 
to  appear  in  the  most  superb  binding.  He  had  numerous 
admirers  in  Holland  and  among  the  Huguenots  of  France. 
"With  the  pleasure,  however,  he  experienced  some  of  the 
pains  of  eminence.  Knavish  booksellers  put  forth  volumes 
of  trash  under  his  name,  and  envious  scribblers  maintained 
it  to  be  impossible  that  the  poor  ignorant  tinker  should 
really  be  the  author  of  the  book  which  was  called  his. 

He  took  the  best  way  to  confound  both  those  who  coun- 
terfeited him  and  those  slandered  him.  He  continued  to 
work  the  gold-field  which  he  had  discovered,  and  to  draw 
from  it  new  treasures;  not,  indeed,  with  quite  such  ease  and 
in  quite  such  abundance  as  when  the  precious  soil  was  still 
virgin,  but  yet  with  success  which  left  all  competition  far 
behind.  In  1684  appeared  the  second  part  of  the  "Pil- 
grim's Progress."  It  was  soon  followed  by  the  "Holy 
War,"  which,  if  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  did  not  exist, 
would  be  the  best  allegory  that  ever  was  written. 

Bunyan's  place  in  society  was  now  very  different  from 

what  it  had  been.     There  had  been  a  time  when  many  Dis- 

20 


306  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

senting  ministers,  who  could  talk  Latin  and  read  Greek,  had 
affected  to  treat  him  with  scorn.  But  his  fame  and  influ- 
ence now  far  exceeded  theirs.  He  had  so  great  an  author- 
ity among  the  Baptists  that  he  was  popularly  called  Bishop 
Bunyan.  His  episcopal  visitations  were  annual.  From 
Bedford  he  rode  every  year  to  London,  and  preached  there 
to  large  and  attentive  congregations.  From  London  he 
went  his  circuit  through  the  country,  animating  the  zeal  of 
his  brethren,  collecting  and  distributing  alms,  and  making 
up  quarrels.  The  magistrates  seem  in  general  to  have  given 
him  little  trouble.  But  there  is  reason  to  believe  that,  in 
the  year  1685,  he  was  in  some  danger  of  again  occupying  his 
old  quarters  in  Bedford  jail.  In  that  year,  the  rash  and 
wicked  enterprise  of  Monmouth  gave  the  government  a 
pretext  for  prosecuting  the  Non-conformists ;  and  scarcely 
one  eminent  divine  of  the  Presbyterian,  Independent,  or 
Baptist  persuasion  remained  unmolested.  Baxter  was  in 
prison ;  Howe  was  driven  into  exile ;  Henry  was  arrested. 
Two  eminent  Baptists,  with  whom  Bunyan  had  been  en- 
gaged in  controversy,  were  in  great  peril  and  distress. 
Danvers  was  in  danger  of  being  hanged,  and  Kiffin's  grand- 
sons were  actually  hanged.  The  tradition  is,  that  during 
those  evil  days,  Bunyan  was  forced  to  disguise  himself  as  a 
wagoner,  and  that  he  preached  to  his  congregation  at  Bed- 
ford in  a  smock-frock,  with  a  cart-whip  in  his  hand.  But 
soon  a  great  change  took  place.  James  the  Second  was  at 
open  war  with  the  Church,  and  found  it  necessary  to  court 
the  Dissenters.  Some  of  the  creatures  of  the  government 
tried  to  secure  the  aid  of  Bunyan.  They  probably  knew  that 
he  had  written  in  praise  of  the  indulgence  of  1672,  and  there- 
fore hoped  that  he  might  be  equally  pleased  with  the  indul- 
gence of  1687.  But  fifteen  years  of  thought,  observation,  and 
commerce  with  the  world  had  made  him  wiser.  Nor  were 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  307 

the  cases  exactly  parallel.  Charles  was  a  professed  Protest- 
ant ;  James  was  a  professed  papist.  The  object  of  Charles's 
indulgence  was  disguised;  the  object  of  James's  indulgence 
was  patent.  Bunyan  was  not  deceived.  He  exhorted  his 
hearers  to  prepare  themselves  by  fasting  and  prayer  for  the 
danger  which  menaced  their  civil  and  religious  liberties,  and 
refused  even  to  speak  to  the  courtier  who  came  down  to  re- 
model the  corporation  of  Bedford,  and  who,  as  was  sup- 
posed, had  it  in  charge  to  offer  some  municipal  dignity  to 
the  bishop  of  the  Baptists. 

Bunyan  did  not  live  to  see  the  Revolution.  In  the 
Summer  of  1688  he  undertook  to  plead  the  cause  of  a  son 
with  an  angry  father,  and  at  length  prevailed  on  the  old 
man  not  to  disinherit  the  young  one.  This  good  work  cost 
the  benevolent  intercessor  his  life.  He  had  to  ride  through 
heavy  rain.  He  came  drenched  to  his  lodgings  on  Snow 
Hill,  was  seized  with  a  violent  fever,  and  died  in  a  few 
days.  He  was  buried  in  Bunhill  Fields;  and  the  spot 
where  he  lies  is  still  regarded  by  the  Non-conformists  with 
a  feeling  which  seems  scarcely  in  harmony  with  the  stern 
spirit  of  their  theology.  Many  Puritans,  to  whom  the  re- 
spect paid  by  Roman  Catholics  to  the  relics  and  tombs  of 
saints  seemed  childish  or  sinful,  are  said  to  have  begged 
with  their  dying  breath  that  their  coffins  might  be  placed 
as  near  as  possible  to  the  coffin  of  the  author  of  the  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress." 

The  fame  of  Bunyan  during  his  life,  and  during  the 
century  which  followed  his  death,  was  indeed  great,  but  was 
almost  entirely  confined  to  religious  families  of  the  middle 
and  lower  classes.  Very  seldom  was  he,  during  that  time, 
mentioned  with  respect  by  any  writer  of  great  literary  emi- 
nence. Young  coupled  his  prose  with  the  poetry  of  the 
wretched  D'Urfey.  In  the  "  Spiritual  Quixote,"  the  adven- 


308  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

tures  of  Christian  are  ranked  with  those  of  Jack  the  Giant- 
killer  and  John  Hickathrift.  Cowper  ventured  to  praise 
the  great  allegorist,  but  did  not  venture  to  name  him.  It 
is  a  significant  circumstance  that,  till  a  recent  period,  all  the 
numerous  editions  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress "  were  evi- 
dently meant  for  the  cottage  and  the  servants'  hall.  The 
paper,  the  printing,  the  plates  were  all  of  the  meanest  de- 
scription. In  general,  when  the  educated  minority  and  the 
common  people  differ  about  the  merit  of  a  book,  the 
opinion  of  the  educated  minority  finally  prevails.  The 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  is  perhaps  the  only  book  about  which, 
after  the  lapse  of  a  hundred  years,  the  educated  minority 
has  come  over  to  the  opinion  of  the  common  people. — 
MACAULAY. 

0  king  without  a  crown, 
0  priest  above  the  line 
Whose  course  is  through  the  ages  down, 
What  wondrous  eyes  were  thine ! 

As  in  the  sea  of  glass, 
So  pictured  in  those  eyes 
Were  all  the  things  that  come  to  pass 
Beneath,  above  the  skies ; 

Between  two  worlds  the  way, 
The  sun,  the  cloud,  the  snares, 
The  pilgrim's  progress  day  by  day, 
The  gladness  God  prepares. 

Enough,  enough  this  vision, 
By  thee  built  into  story, 
To  crown  thy  life  by  Heaven's  decision, 
With  monumental  glory. 


XXXV. 


(BORN  1754— DIED  1793.) 

THE   MOST  REMARKABLE  WOMAN   OF  THE  FRENCH   REVOLUTION— 
THE  IPHIGENIA  OF  FRANCE. 


;ARIE-JEANNE  PHLIPON,  for  this  was  her 

maiden  name,  was  born  in  Paris  in  the  year  1754. 
Her  father  was  an  engraver.  The  daughter  does 
not  delineate  him  in  her  memoirs  with  such  com- 
pleteness as  she  has  sketched  her  mother,  but  we  can  infer 
from  the  fleeting  glimpses  which  she  gives  of  him  that  he 
was  a  man  of  very  considerable  intellectual  and  physical 
force,  but  also  of  most  irregular  tendencies,  which  in  his 
later  years  debased  him  to  serious  immoralities.  He  was  a 
superior  workman,  discontented  with  his  lot.  He  sought  to 
better  it  by  speculative  operations  outside  his  vocation.  As 
his  daughter  expresses  it,  "  he  went  in  pursuit  of  riches,  and 
met  with  ruin  on  his  way."  She  also  remarks  of  him, 
"  that  he  could  not  be  said  to  be  a  good  man,  but  he  had  a 
great  deal  of  what  is  called  honor." 

Hef  mother  was  evidently  an  angelic  woman.  Many 
passages  in  the  memoirs  indicate  that  she  possessed  uncom- 
mon intellectual  endowments;  but  so  exceeding  were  her 
virtues  that,  when  her  face  rose  to  the  daughter's  view  in 
the  night  of  after  years,  and  gazed  compassionately  on  her 
through  prison  bars,  the  daughter,  writing  in  the  shadow 
of  death,  presents  her  in  the  light  only  of  purest,  noblest 
womanhood. 

Marie  was  so  precocious  that  she  could  not  remember 

309 


310  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

when  she  was  unable  to  read.  The  first  book  she  remem- 
bered reading  was  the  Old  and  New  Testament.  Her  early 
religious  teaching  was  most  sufficient,  and  was  submitted  to 
by  a  mind  which,  although  practical  and  realistic,  was  al- 
ways devout  and  somewhat  affected^by  mystical,  vague,  and 
enthusiastic  tendencies.  She  was  a  prodigy  in  the  cate- 
chism, and  was  an  agent  of  terror  to  the  excellent  priest 
who  taught  her  and  the  other  children,  for  she  frequently 
confounded  him  in  open  class  by  questions  which  have 
vexed  persons  of  maturest  years.  She  was  taught  the  harp, 
the  piano,  the  guitar,  and  the  violin.  She  was  proficient  in 
dancing.  Such  was  her  astonishing  aptitude  in  all  studies 
that  she  says,  "I  had  not  a  single  master  who  did  not  ap- 
pear as  much  flattered  by  teaching  me  as  I  was  grateful  for 
being  taught ;  nor  one  who,  after  attending  me  for  a  year  or 
two,  was  not  the  first  to  say  that  his  instructions  were  no 
longer  necessary."  It  was  her  habit  in  childhood,  after  she 
had  read  any  book,  to  lay  it  aside  and  reconstruct  its  contents 
by  the  processes  of  a  most  powerful  memory,  and  while  doing 
so,  to  meditate  upon,  analyze,  and  debate  with  it  in  the  se- 
verest spirit  of  criticism  and  controversy. 

When  nine  years  of  age  she  was  reading  Appian,  the 
romances  of  Scarron,  which  disgusted  and  did  not  taint  her ; 
the  memoirs  of  De  Paites  and  of  Madame  de  Montpensier. 
She  mastered  a  treatise  on  heraldry  so  thoroughly  that  she 
corrected  her  father  one  day  when  she  saw  him  engraving  a 
seal  inconformably  to  some  minor  rule  of  that  art.  She  es- 
sayed a  book  on  contracts,  but  it  did  not  entice  her  to  a 
complete  perusal. 

She  took  great  delight  in  Plutarch,  which  she  often  car- 
ried to  church  instead  of  her  missal.  She  read  the  "  Candide  " 
of  Voltaire,  Fenelon  on  the  education  of  girls,  and  Locke 
on  that  of  children.  During  all  this  time  her  mind  was 


MADAME  ROLAND.  311 

troubled  by  those  unanswerable  and  saddening  reflections 
upon  those  recondite  theological  subjects  which  often  torture 
such  children,  and  which  grown  up  people  are  too  often  so 
forgetful  of  their  own  childhood  that  they  fail  to  sympathize 
with  them.  She  regarded  with  disapproval  the  transforma- 
tion of  the  Devil  into  a  serpent,  and  thought  it  cruel  in 
God  to  permit  it.  Referring  to  the  time  when  her  first 
communion  drew  near,  she  writes :  "  I  felt  a  sacred  terror 
take  possession  of  my  soul." 

She  became  profoundly  humble  and  inexpressibly  timid. 
As  she  grew  older  she  learned  that  she  was  to  live  in  a 
•world  of  errors,  sorrows,  and  sins,  and  the  mere  knowledge 
of  their  existence,  by  some  peculiar  process  of  her  wonder- 
ful mind,  seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  their  combined  attack 
upon  her  soul.  She  watched  her  thoughts  until  forbidden 
topics  were  generated  in  her  mind  by  the  very  act  of 
watchfulness.  She  then  regarded  herself  as  an  accomplice 
with  every  profane  image  which  invaded  her  innocent  im- 
agination. She  subjected  herself  to  physical  mortifications 
and  austerities  of  a  whimsical  yet  severe  character.  She 
aspired  to  the  fate  of  holy  women  of  old,  who  had  suffered 
martyrdom,  and  she  finally  resolved  to  enter  a  convent. 
She  was  then  eleven  years  old.  She  was  placed  in  such  an 
institution  ostensibly  for  further  education,  but  with  the  in- 
tention on  her  part  there  to  always  remain.  It  was  like 
entering  the  vestibule  of  heaven.  She  records  of  her  first 
night  there :  "  I  lifted  up  my  eyes  to  the  heavens ;  they 
were  unclouded  and  serene ;  I  imagined  that  I  felt  the 
presence  of  the  Deity  smiling  on  my  sacrifice,  and  already 
offering  me  a  reward  in  the  consolatory  peace  of  a  celestial 
abode." 

She  was  always  an  acute  observer  and  a  caustic  commen- 
tator, and  she  soon  discovered  that  the  cloister  is  not  neces- 


312  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

sarily  a  celestial  abode,  and  that  its  inmates  do  not  inevitably 
enjoy  consolatory  peace.  She  found  feminine  spite  there  of 
the  same  texture  with  that  wreaked  by  worldly  women 
upon  each  other,  and  she  notes  the  cruel  taunts  which  good, 
old,  ugly,  and  learned  sister  Sophia  received  from  some 
stupid  nuns,  who,  she  says,  "  were  fond  of  exposing  her  de- 
fects because  they  did  not  possess  her  talents."  But  her  de- 
votional fervor  did  not  abate.  She  fainted  under  the  feeling 
of  awe  in  the  act  of  her  first  communion,  for  she  literally 
believed  that  her  lips  touched  the  very  substance  of  her 
God,  and  thereafter  she  was  long  brooded  over  by  that  per- 
fect peace  which  passeth  understanding. 

She  remained  there  a  year,  when  her  destiny  was  changed 
by  some  domestic  events  which  made  her  services  necessary 
to  her  parents,  and  she  returned  home.  Her  resolution  was 
unchanged,  and  she  read  and  meditated  deeply  upon  the 
Philotee  of  Saint  Francis  de  Sales,  upon  the  manual  of  Saint 
Augustine,  and  upon  the  polemical  writings  of  Bossuet. 
But  by  this  time  the  leaven  of  dissent  began  to  work  in 
that  powerful  intellect,  for  she  remarks  upon  these  works, 
that  "  favorable  as  they  are  to  the  cause  which  they  defended, 
they  sometimes  let  me  into  the  secret  of  objections  which 
might  be  made  to  it,  and  set  me  to  scrutinizing  the  articles  of 
my  faith;"  and  she  states  that  "this  was  the  first  step  to- 
ward a  skepticism  at  which  I  was  destined  to  arrive  after 
having  been  successively  Jansenist,  Cartesian,  Stoic,  and 
Deist."  By  this  skepticism  she  doubtless  meant  merely 
skepticism  as  to  creeds,  for  in  her  memoirs,  written  in  daily 
expectation  of  death,  and  in  most  intense  self-communion, 
she  writes  upon  the  great  subjects  of  immortality,  Deity,  and 
providence  in  language  of  astonishing  eloquence.  "Can," 
she  writes,  "can  the  sublime  idea  of  a  Divine  Creator,  whose 
providence  watches  over  the  world,  the  immateriality  of  the 


MADAME  ROLAND.  313 

soul  and  its  immortality,  that  consolatory  hope  of  persecuted 
virtue,  be  nothing  more  than  amiable  and  splendid  chimeras? 
But  in  how  much  obscurity  are  these  difficult  problems  in- 
volved? What  accumulated  objections  arise  when  we  wish 
to  examine  them  with  mathematical  rigor?  No!  it  is  not 
given  to  the  human  mind  to  behold  these  truths  in  the  full 
day  of  perfect  evidence;  but  why  should  the  man  of  sensi- 
bility repine  at  not  being  able  to  demonstrate  what  he  feels 
to  be  true?  In  the  silence  of  the  closet  and  the  dryness  of 
discussion,  I  can  agree  with  the  atheist  or  the  materialist  as 
to  the  insolubility  of  certain  questions;  but  in  the  contem- 
plation of  nature  my  soul  soars  aloft  to  the  vivifying  prin- 
ciple which  animates  it,  to  the  intellect  which  pervades  it, 
and  to  the  goodness  which  makes  it  so  glorious.  Now,  when 
immense  walls  separate  me  from  all  I  love,  when  all  the  evils 
of  society  have  fallen  upon  us  together,  as  if  to  punish  us 
for  having  desired  its  greatest  blessings,  I  see  beyond  the 
limits  of  life  the  reward  of  our  sacrifices.  How,  in  what 
manner,  I  can  not  say.  I  only  feel  that  so  it  ought  to  be." 
She  read  incongruouslv.  Coudillac,  Voltaire,  the  Lives 
of  the  Fathers,  Descartes,  Saint  Jerome,  Don  Quixote,  Pas- 
cal, Montesquieu,  Burlamaqui,  and  the  French  dramatists, 
were  read,  annotated,  and  commented  on.  She  gives  an  ap- 
palling list  of  obsolete  devotional  books,  which  she  borrowed 
of  a  pious  abbe,  and  returned  with  marginal  notes  which 
shocked  him.  She  read  the  Dictionnaire  Philosophique, 
Diderot,  D'Alembert,  Raynal,  Holbach,  and  took  delight  in 
the  Epistles  of  Saint  Paul.  She  was,  while  studying  Male- 
branche  and  Descartes,  so  convinced,  that  she  considered  her 
kitten,  when  it  mewed,  merely  a  piece  of  mechanism  in  the 
exercise  of  its  functions.  The  chilling  negations  and  arid 
skepticism  of  Helvetius  shocked  her,  and  she  writes:  "I  felt 
myself  possessed  of  a  generosity  of  soul  of  which  he  denied 


314  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  existence."  She  concluded  at  this  time  that  a  republic 
is  the  true  form  of  government,  and  that  every  other  form  is 
in  derogation  of  man's  natural  rights. 

She  mastered  Clairaut's  geometry  by  copying  the  book, 
plates,  and  all,  from  beginning  to  end.  She  read  Pufen- 
dorf 's  folio  on  the  law  of  nature.  She  learned  English,  and 
read  the  life  of  Cromwell.  She  read  the  great  French 
preachers,  Bossuet,  Flechier,  Bourdaloue,  and  Massillon.  She 
was  vexed  by  the  terrorism  of  their  arguments.  She  thought 
that  they  overrated  the  importance  of  the  devil.  She  did 
not  believe  him  to  be  as  powerful  as  they  feared.  She 
thought  that  they  might  teach  oftener  what  seemed  to  her 
the  potent  element  of  Christian  faith — love — and  leave  the 
devil  out  sometimes,  and  so  she  herself  wrote  a  sermon  on 
brotherly  love,  with  which  that  personage  had  nothing  to 
do,  and  in  which  his  name  was  not  even  mentioned.  She 
also  read  the  Protestant  preachers — Blair  especially.  She 
entangled  herself  in  the  acute  skepticism  of  Bayle. 

She  seemed  possessed  of  one  of  those  assimilative  intel- 
lects which  extract  by  glances  the  substance  from  a  book  as 
the  flash  of  lightning  demagnetizes  the  loadstone.  Her  ac- 
quisitions were  consequently  immense.  Though  very  yield- 
ing in  the  grasp  of  the  mighty  thinkers  whom  she  encoun- 
tered, yet  she  read  them  in  the  spirit  of  criticism,  controversy, 
and  dissent. 

She  was,  nevertheless,  the  farthest  in  the  world  from 
becoming  a  literary  dragon.  All  this  did  not  impair  the 
freshness  of  girlhood.  She  was  meek  and  pure.  Passages 
in  her  autobiography,  which  I  can  not  repeat,  yet  which 
ought  to  be  read,  establish  this.  She  was  throughout  en- 
tirely domestic.  She  did  the  marketing,  cooked  the  food; 
ritirsed  her  mother;  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  the  apprentices; 
nearly  fell  in  love,  for  when  the  young  painter,  Taborel,  who 


MADAME  ROLAND.  315 

was  twenty,  and  blushed  like  a  girl,  visited  her  father's 
workshop,  she  always  had  a  crayon  or  something  else  to 
seek  there,  but  at  the  sight  of  him  ran  away  trembling, 
without  saying  a  word. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  her  to  be  both  scholar  and  house- 
wife. Writing  in  after  years,  of  domestic  cares,  she  says: 
"  I  never  could  comprehend  how  the  attention  of  a  woman 
who  possesses  method  and  activity  can  be  engrossed  by 
them.  .  .  .  Nothing  is  wanting  but  a  proper  distribution  of 
employments,  and  a  small  share  of  vigilance.  .  .  .  People 
who  know  how  to  employ  themselves  always  find  leisure 
moments,  while  those  who  do  nothing  are  in  want  of  time 
for  any  thing.  ...  I  think  that  a  wife  should  keep  the 
linen  and  clothes  in  order,  or  cause  them  to  be  so  kept ; 
nurse  her  children;  give  directions  concerning  the  cookery, 
or  superintend  it  herself,  but  without  saying  a  word  about 
it,  and  with  such  command  of  her  temper,  and  such  manage- 
ment of  her  time,  as  may  leave  her  the  means  of  talking  of 
other  matters,  and  of  pleasing  no  less  by  her  good  humor 
than  by  the  graces  natural  to  her  sex.  .  .  .  It  is  nearly 
the  same  in  the  government  of  states  as  of  families.  Those 
famous  housewives  who  are  always  expatiating  on  their 
labors  are  sure  either  to  leave  much  in  arrears,  or  to  render 
themselves  tiresome  to  every  one  around  them;  and,  in  like 
manner,  those  men  in  power  so  talkative  and  so  full  of  busi- 
ness, only  make  a  mighty  bustle  about  the  difficulties  they 
are  in  because  too  awkward  or  ignorant  to  remove  them." 

An  acquaintance  which  one  of  her  uncles,  who  was  an 
ecclesiastic,  had  with  an  upper  servant  of  the  royal  house- 
hold, enabled  her  to  spend  some  days  at  the  palace  of  Ver- 
sailles. She  was  lodged  with  the  servants,  and  enjoyed  the 
servant's  privilege  of  seeing  every  thing  and  sparing  nothing. 
Royalty  was  never  put  in  the  focus  of  eyes  so  critical.-  Her 


316  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

comments  upon  this  visit  are  very  brief.  She  expresses  her 
detestation  of  what  she  saw,  saying,  "  It  gives  me  the  feeling 
of  injustice,  and  obliges  me  every  moment  to  contemplate 
absurdity." 

The  studies  and  experiences  which  have  been  described 
bring  us  to  her  fifteenth  year.  She  was  then  a  beautiful 
woman.  In  her  memoirs  she  declines  to  state  how  she 
looked  when  a  child,  saying  that  she  knows  a  better  time 
for  such  a  sketch.  In  describing  herself  at  fifteen,  she  says : 
"I  was  five  feet  four  inches  tall;  my  leg  was  shapely;  my 
hips  high  and  prominent ;  my  chest  broad  and  nobly  deco- 
rated; my  shoulders  flat;  .  .  .  my  face  had  nothing 
striking  in  it  except  a  great  deal  of  color,  and  much  soft- 
ness and  expression  ;  my  mouth  is  a  little  too  wide — you 
may  see  prettier  every  day — but  you  will  see  none  with  a 
smile  more  tender  and  engaging ;  my  eyes  are  not  very 
large ;  the  color  of  the  iris  is  hazel ;  my  hair  is  dark 
brown ;  my  nose  gave  me  some  uneasiness ;  I  thought  it  a 
little  too  flat  at  the  end.  .  .  .  It  is  only  since  my  beauty 
has  faded  that  I  have  known  what  it  has  been  in  its  bloom. 
I  was  then  unconscious  of  its  value,  which  was  probably 
augmented  by  my  ignorance." 

That  she  understated  her  personal  charms,  the  concurrent 
admiration  of  contemporary  men  and  women  fully  attests. 
Her  physical  beauty  was  marvelous,  and  when  great  men 
were  subjected  to  its  influence,  to  the  imperial  functions  of 
her  intellect,  and  to  the  persuasions  of  an  organization  ex- 
ceedingly spiritual  and  magnetic,  it  is  no  wonder  that  her 
influence,  domestic  woman,  housewife,  as  she  always  was, 
became  so  effectual  over  them. 

Let  me  here  warn  my  hearers  not  to  forestall  this 
woman  in  their  judgments.  She  was  not  a  manlike  female. 
No  better  wife  ever  guided  her  husband  anonymously  by 


MADAME  ROLAND.  317 

her  intuitions,  or  assisted  him  by  her  learning.  In  the 
farm  house  and  in  the  palace  she  was  as  wifely  aud  retiring 
as  any  of  the  excellent  women  who  have  been  the  wives  of 
American  statesmen.  Every  one  knew  her  abilities  and 
her  stupendous  acquirements,  and  she  felt  them  herself,  but, 
notwithstanding,  she  never  would  consent  to  write  a  line  for 
publication  and  avow  it  as  her  own,  and  never  did,  until 
that  time  when  her  husband  was  an  outlaw,  when  her  child 
was  torn  from  her,  when  she  herself  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  guillotine,  and.  writhed  under  the  foulest  written  and 
spoken  calumnies  that  can  torture  outraged  womanhood 
into  eloquence.  She  then  wrote,  in  twenty -six  days,  her 
immortal  Appeal  to  Posterity,  and  those  stirring  letters  and 
papers  incident  to '  her  defense,  from  which  some  extracts 
have  been  here  presented.  She  was  mistress  of  a  faultless 
style.  Her  command  over  the  resources  of  her  language 
was  despotic.  She  could  give  to  French  prose  an  Italian 
rhythmus.  She  had  wit  and  imagination — a  reasoning 
imagination.  She  was  erudite.  Probably  no  woman  ever 
lived  better  entitled  to  a  high  position  in  literature.  But 
she  never  claimed  it.  She  holds  it  now  only  as  a  collateral 
result  of  her  defense  in  the  struggle  in  which  her  life  was 
the  stake,  and  in  which  she  lost.  She  says :  "  Never,  how- 
ever, did  I  feel  the  smallest  temptation  to  become  an  author. 
I  perceived  at  a  very  early  period  that  a  woman  who  ac- 
quires this  title  loses  far  more  than  she  gains.  She  forfeits 
the  affections  of  the  male  sex,  and  provokes  the  criticisms 
of  her  own.  If  her  works  be  bad,  she  is  ridiculed,  and  not 
without  reason ;  if  good,  her  right  to  them  is  disputed ;  or 
if  envy  be  forced  to  acknowledge  the  best  part  to  be  her 
own,  her  character,  her  morals,  her  conduct,  and  her  talents 
are  scrutinized  in  such  a  manner  that  the  reputation  of  her 
genius  is  fully  counterbalanced  by  the  publicity  given  to 


318  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEX. 

her  defects.  Besides,  my  happiness  was  my  chief  concern, 
and  I  never  saw  the  public  intermeddle  with  that  of  any 
one  without  marring  it.  ...  During  twelve  years  of 
my  life  I  shared  in  my  husband's  labors  as  I  participated 
in  his  repasts,  because  one  was  as  natural  to  me  as  the 
other.  If  any  part  of  his  works  happened  to  be  quoted  in 
which  particular  graces  of  style  were  discovered,  or  if  a 
flattering  reception  was  given  to  any  of  the  academic  trifles, 
which  he  took  a  pleasure  in  transmitting  to  the  learned 
societies,  of  which  he  was  a  member,  I  partook  of  his  satis- 
faction without  reminding  him  that  it  was  my  own  com- 
position. ...  If  during  his  administration  an  occasion 
occurred  for  the  expression  of  great  and  striking  truths,  I 
poured  forth  my  whole  soul  upon  the  paper,  and  it  was  but 
natural  that  its  effusions  should  be  preferable  to  the  labori- 
ous teemings  of  a  secretary's  brain.  I  loved  my  country. 
I  was  an  enthusiast  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  I  was  unac- 
quainted with  any  interest  or  any  passions  that  could  enter 
into  competition  with  that  enthusiasm ;  my  language,  con- 
sequently, could  not  but  be  pure  and  pathetic,  as  it  was 
that  of  the  heart  and  of  truth.  .  .  .  Why  should  not  a 
woman  act  as  secretary  to  her  husband  without  depriving 
him  of  any  portion  of  his  merit  ?  It  is  well  known  that 
ministers  can  not  do  every  thing  themselves ;  and,  surely,  if 
the  wives  of  those  of  the  old  governments,  or  even  of  the 
new,  had  been  capable  of  making  draughts  of  letters,  of 
official  dispatches,  or  of  proclamations,  their  time  would 
have  been  better  employed  than  in  intriguing  first  for  one 
paramour  and  then  for  another."  "An  old  coxcomb,  en- 
amored of  himself,  and  vain  of  displaying  the  slender  stock 
of  science  he  has  been  so  long  in  acquiring,  might  be  in  the 
habit  of  seeing  me  ten  years  together  without  suspecting 
that  I  could  do  more  than  cast  up  a  bill  or  cut  out  a  shirt." 


MADAME  ROLAND.  319 

Suitors,  she  writes,  came  numerously  from  her  fifteenth 
year.  She  marches  them  off  en  masse  in  her  memoirs.  As 
is  the  custom  in  France,  the  first  overture  was  made  to  her 
father,  and  usually  by  letter.  Her  music  teacher  was  her 
first  devotee.  He  was  followed  by  her  dancing  master, 
who,  as  a  propitiatory  preparation,  had  a  wen  cut  out  of  his 
cheek ;  then  came  a  wealthy  butcher ;  then  a  man  of  rank ; 
then  a  dissolute  physician,  from  marrying  whom  she  nar- 
rowly escaped;  then  a  jeweler,  and  many  others.  The 
merits  of  these  gentlemen — particularly  those  of  the  ener- 
getic butcher — were  warmly  commended  by  their  female 
friends,  who,  in  France,  are  brokers  in  this  business  on  a 
very  extensive  scale.  It  is  a  unique  proof  of  her  ascend- 
ancy over  every  person  near  her  that  the  letters  which  her 
father  received,  requesting  his  permission  to  address  her, 
were  submitted  by  him  to  her  to  draft  the  answer  he  was  to 
send.  So  she  placed 'herself  loco  parentis,  and  wrote  the 
most  paternal  letters  of  refusal;  all  of  which  her  father 
dutifully  copied  and  sent,  with  many  a  pang  when  she  let 
riches  and  rank  pass  by  her.  The  suitors  were  dismissed, 
one  and  all,  and  she  resumed  her  books  and  studies. 

Her  mother  died  in  1775.  She  became  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  Her  father  formed  disreputable  connections. 
Late  in  that  year  her  future  husband,  Roland  de  la  Platiere, 
presented  himself,  with  a  letter  from  -a  friend  of  her  girl- 
hood. He  was  forty  years  old ;  he  was  a  student ;  his  form 
was  awkward  and  his  manners  were  stiff;  his  morals  were 
irreproachable,  his  disposition  was  exacting,  but  his  ability 
was  great.  He  was  capable  of  instructing  even  her  on  many 
subjects,  and  they  became  well  acquainted  by  the  elective 
sympathy  of  scholarship.  She  became  the  critic  and  depos- 
itary of  his  manuscripts.  Finally,  one  day,  after  asking 
leave,  in  her  father's  presence  the  worthy  man  actually 


320  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

kissed  her,  on  his  departure  for  Italy.  Her  father,  sink- 
ing lower  and  lower,  squandered  her  little  fortune  of 
about  three  thousand  dollars,  wasted  his  own  business,  and 
then  treated  her  with  brutality.  Her  only  amusement  at 
this  time  was  playing  the  violin,  accompanied  by  an  old 
priest  who  tortured  a  bass  viol,  while  her  uncle  made  a  flute 
complain. 

Finally,  after  an  acquaintance  of  five  years,  Roland,  by 
letter  to  her  father,  proposed  marriage.  The  purity  of  Ro- 
land's life  was  esteemed  by  Phlipon  such  a  reproach  to  his 
own  dissoluteness  that  he  revenged  himself  by  an  insulting 
refusal.  He  then  made  his  daughter's  life  at  home  so  in- 
supportable that  she  took  lodgings  in  a  convent.  She  was 
visited  there  by  Roland,  and  they  were  finally  married, 
without  again  consulting  her  father.  During  the  year 
next  succeeding  their  marriage  they  remained  at  Paris. 
From  Paris  they  went  to  Amiens,  and  lived  there  four 
years,  where  her  daughter  was  born.  She  assisted  her 
husband  in  the  preparation  of  several  statistical  and  scien- 
tific articles  for  the  Encyclopedic.  She  made  a  hortus 
siccus  of  the  plants  of  Picardy. 

In  1784  they  removed  to  the  family  estate  of  Roland  at 
Villefranche,  near  Lyons.  She  had,  in  the  course  of  her 
studies,  acquired  considerable  knowledge  of  medicine. 
There  was  no  physician  in  that  little  community,  and  she 
became  the  village  doctor.  Some  of  her  experiences  were 
quite  whimsical.  A  country-woman  came  several  leagues, 
and  offered  her  a  horse  if  she  would  save  the  life  of  her 
husband,  whom  a  physician  had  given  up  to  die.  She  vis- 
ited the  sick  man,  and  he  recovered,  but  she  had  great  dif- 
ficulty in  resisting  the  importunities  of  his  wife  that  she 
should  take  the  horse. 

In  1784  they  went  to  England,  and  in  1787  they  made 


MADAME  ROLAND.  321 

the  tour  of  Switzerland.  Roland  was  elected  member  of 
the  constitutional  assembly  from  Lyons,  and  they  went  to 
Paris. 

I  am  compelled  now  to  pass  from  the  uneventful  first 
ten  years  of  her  married  life  with  the  single  remark  that, 
through  them  all,  she  was  the  devoted  wife  and  mother,  the 
kind  neighbor,  and  the  most  assiduous  student.  But  her 
mind  bore,  as  on  a  mirror,  prophetic,  shadowy,  and  pic- 
tured glimpses  of  those  awful  events  which  were  marching 
out  of  futurity  toward  France.  Her  letters  written  during 
this  period  show  that  she  gazed  upon  them  with  a  prescient 
eye,  and  heard  with  keenest  ear  the  alarum  of  the  legions 
which  were  gathering  for  attack.  The  young  men  of  Lyons, 
where  she  and  her  husband  spent  the  Winters,  gathered  in 
her  parlors,  and  heard  from  the  lips  of  this  impassioned 
seeress  of  liberty  words  which,  in  such  formative  periods  of 
a  nation's  life,  hasten  events  with  a  power  that  seems  like 
absolute  physical  force. 

Her  husband  was  chosen  a  member  of  the  national  as- 
sembly, and  she  went  with  him  again  to  Paris  in  1791. 

Here  ends  the  peaceful  period  of  her  life.  Here  close 
upon  her  forever  the  doors  of  home ;  and  here  open  to  her 
the  doors  of  history,  which  too  often  admits  its  guests  only 
to  immolate  them  in  splendid  chambers,  as  it  immolated 
her.  From  this  time  we  miss  the  pure  womanliness  of  her 
character,  in  which  she  is  so  lovely,  and  see  her  imperial 
beauty  and  her  regal  intellect  in  all  their  autocratic  power, 
until  that  time  when  her  husband,  home,  child,  power,  and 
hope  were  all  forever  gone,  and  her  womanhood  again 
shone  out,  like  a  mellow  and  beauteous  sunset,  when  life's 
day  drew  near  its  close. 

Nothing  had  become  more  certain  than  that  the  mon- 
archy would  undergo  radical  constitutional  changes.  Of 

21 


322  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

this  every  one  was  conscious  except  the  king  and  the  no- 
bility. They  were  struck  with  that  blindness  which  fore- 
runs ruin.  They  constituted  one  party,  and  this  party  was 
the  common  object  of  attack  by  two  political  and  revolu- 
tionary divisions,  the  Girondists  and  the  Jacobins.  The 
Gironde  wished  reform,  a  constitution,  a  monarchy,  but  one 
limited  and  constitutional,  equality  in  taxes.  They  did  not 
wish  to  destroy  utterly,  but  they  were  willing  to  dislocate 
and  then  readjust,  the  machinery  of  state.  The  Jacobins  at 
first  said  much,  but  proposed  little.  They  aspired  to  the 
abolition  of  the  throne  and  the  establishment  of  a  republic; 
they  wished  to  overthrow  the  altar ;  they  promised,  vaguely, 
to  wreak  upon  the  rich  and  titled  full  revenge  for  the 
wrongs  of  the  poor  and  lowly.  Every  political  and  social 
dream  which  had  found  expression  for  twenty  years,  every 
skeptical  attack  upon  things  ancient  and  holy,  found  in  this 
body  of  men  a  party  and  an  exponent.  Up  to  a  certain 
point  both  of  these  parties  necessarily  made  common  war 
upon  the  old  order  of  things.  But,  beyond  that  point,  it 
was  equally  certain  that  they  would  attack  each  other.  The 
Girondists  would  wish  to  stop,  and  the  Jacobins  would  wish 
to  go  on. 

During  the  session  of  this  assembly  the  influence  of 
Madame  Roland  on  men  of  all  modes  of  thought  became 
most  marked.  Her  parlors  were  the  rendezvous  of  eminent 
men,  and  men  destined  to  become  eminent.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  discover,  from  the  carping  records  of  that  time,  that 
she  asserted  her  powers  by  an  unwomanly  effort.  Men  felt 
in  her  presence  that  they  were  before  a  great  intellectual 
being — a  creative  and  inspiring  mind — and  it  shone  upon 
them  without  effort,  like  the  sun.  Among  these  visitors  was 
Maximilien  Robespierre,  who  afterwards  took  her  life.  He 
was  then  obscure,  despised,  and  had  been  coughed  down 


MADAME  ROLAND. 


323 


when  he  rose  to  speak.  She  discerned  his  talents,  and  en- 
couraged him.  He  said  little,  but  was  always  near  her,  lis- 
tening to  all  she  said ;  and  in  his  after  days  of  power,  he 
reproduced,  in  many  a  speech,  what  he  had  heard  this  won- 
drous woman  say.  In  this  time  of  his  unpopularity  she 
unquestionably  saved  him  from  the  guillotine  by  her  own 
personal  and  persistent  intercession  with  men  in  power. 

By  the  time  that  the  session  of  this  assembly  drew  near 
its  close  the  ground-swell  began  to  be  felt  of  that  tempest 
of  popular  wrath  which  eventually  swept  over  France,  and 
which  the  Jacobins  rode  and  directed  until  it  dashed  even 
them  upon  the  rocks.  Squalor  came  forth  and  consorted 
with  cleanliness;  vice  crept  from  its  dens  and  sat  down  by 
the  side  of  purity  in  high  places ;  atheism  took  its  stand  at 
the  altar,  and  ministered  with  the  priest. 

This  assembly  adjourned,  and  the  Rolands  returned,  for 
a  short  time,  to  Platiere.  By  this  time  it  was  evident  that 
the  monarchy  could  not  stand  against  the  attacks  of  both  its 
enemies;  the  king  was  compelled  to  yield;  he  threw  him- 
self into  the  arms  of  the  Girondists,  as  his  least  obnoxious 
foes.  He  formed  a  new  cabinet,  and  to  Roland  was  given 
the  ministry  of  the  interior.  It  was  a  very  great  office. 
Its  incumbent  had  administrative  charge  of  all  the  internal 
affairs  of  France.  The  engraver's  daughter  was  now  the 
mistress  of  a  palace.  From  the  lowly  room  where  she  had 
read  Plutarch  until  her  mind  was  made  grand  with  ideas  of 
patriotic  glory,  until  she  loved  her  country  as  once  she  loved 
her  God,  she  had  gone  by  no  base  degrees  to  an  eminence 
where  her  beloved  France,  with  all  its  hopes  and  woes  and 
needs  and  resources,  lay  like  a  map  beneath  her — a  map 
for  her  and  hers  to  change. 

By  this  time  the  titled  refugees  had  brought  the  Prus- 
sian armies  to  the  frontier;  a  majority  of  the  clergy  had 


324  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

identified  themselves  with  the  reaction,  were  breaking  down 
the  revolution  among  the  people,  and  were  producing  a  re- 
versionary tendency  to  absolutism.  The  king  was  vacilla- 
ting and  timid,  but  the  queen  had  all  the  spirit  and  courage 
of  her  mother,  Maria  Theresa.  It  is  very  evident  from 
Madame  Roland's  memoirs  and  letters,  that  these  two  women 
felt  that  they  were  in  actual  collision.  It  is  a  strange  con- 
trast; the  sceptered  wife,  looking  from  her  high  places  with 
longing  and  regret  over  centuries  of  hereditary  succession, 
divine  right  and  unquestioned  prerogative,  calling  on  her 
house  of  Hapsburg  for  aid,  appealing  to  the  kings  of  the 
earth  for  assistance  in  moving  back  the  irreversible  march 
of  destiny: — from  another  palace  the  daughter  of  the  people 
looking  not  back,  but  forward,  speaking  of  kings  and  mon- 
archies as  gone,  or  soon  to  go,  into  tables  of  chronology, 
listening  to  what  the  ancient  centuries  speak  from  Grecian 
and  Roman  tombs,  summoning  old  philosophies  to  attest  the 
inalienable  rights  of  man,  looking  beyond  the  mobs  of  kings 
and  lords  to  the  great  nation-forming  people,  upon  which 
these  float  and  pass  away  like  the  shadows  of  purple  Summer 
clouds;  and  stranger  still,  the  ending  of  the  contrast  in  the 
identification  of  these  typical  women  in  their  death,  both 
going  to  the  same  scaffold,  discrowned  of  all  their  hopes. 
Of  all  the  lessons  which  life  has  taught  to  ambition,  none 
are  more  touching  than  when  it  points  to  the  figures  of  these 
women  as  they  are  hurried  by  the  procession  in  which  they 
moved  to  a  common  fate. 

The  ministry  insisted  that  the  king  should  proclaim  war 
against  those  who  were  threatening  invasion,  and  that  he 
should  proceed  stringently  against  the  unpatriotic  clergy. 
He  refused  to  take  either  course  against  his  ancient  friends. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  Madame  Roland  wrote  to  the  king 
in  advocacy  of  those  measures  that  celebrated  letter  which 


MADAME  ROLAND.  325 

her  husbaud  signed,  and  to  which  all  of  the  ministers  as- 
sented. It  is  a  most  statesmanlike  appeal  for  the  nation. 
It  is  predictive  of  all  the  woes  which  followed.  No  Hebrew 
prophet  ever  spoke  bolder  to  his  king.  She  writes:  "I 
know  that  the  words  of  truth  are  seldom  welcome  at  the 
foot  of  thrones;  I  know  that  it  is  the  withholding  truth 
from  the  councils  of  kings  that  renders  revolution  necessary." 

The  king,  instead  of  adopting  the  policy  recommended, 
dismissed  his  ministers.  The  letter  was  then  made  public 
through  the  newspapers.  Few  state  papers  have  ever  pro- 
duced such  an  effect.  It  became  a  popular  argument,  and 
the  people  demanded  the  restoration  of  the  ministry  for  the 
reasons  which  it  contained,  and  for  expressing  which  tne 
ministry  had  been  dismissed. 

AVhile  the  Girondists  were  supporting  the  ministry  of 
their  choice,  they,  with  the  king,  were  the  object  of  furious 
attacks  by  the  Jacobins.  When  the  ministry  was  dismissed 
the  Gironde  renewed  its  attacks  upon  the  monarchy,  emu- 
lated the  Jacobins  in  the  severity  of  its  assaults,  and  began 
to  conspire  for  a  federative  republic,  similar  to  the  United 
States,  which  to  Madame  Roland  was  the  ideal  of  a  free 
government. 

Madame  Roland  went  from  the  palace  to  hired  lodgings, 
and  in  the  temporary  fusion  which  followed  of  the  revolu- 
tionists of  all  parties,  the  most  eminent  leaders  gathered 
around  her  again.  Robespierre  came,  but  said  little,  for  he 
was  waiting  his  hour.  Danton  laid  his  lion  mane  in  her 
lap,  all  his  savagery  for  the  moment  tamed.  Vergniaud, 
Buzot,  and  all  the  chiefs  of  the  Gironde,  gathered  around 
this  oracle  of  liberty.  Anarchy  supervened.  Paris  and  all 
France  were  filled  with  riotings  and  murder.  The  king 
finally  declared  war,  but  battles  went  against  France.  Riot 
and  murder  increased.  A  mob  of  twenty  thousand  invaded 


326  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  Tuileries  then  occupied  by  the  royal  family.  It  was 
divided  into  three  divisions.  The  first  was  -composed  of 
armed  and  disciplined  men,  led  by  Santerre.  The  male 
ruffians  of  Paris,  blood-thirsty  and  atrocious  beyond  any 
thing  that  civilization  has  ever  produced,  formed  the  second 
division.  The  third,  most  terrible  of  all,  was  composed  of 
the  lost  women  of  Paris,  led  by  Theroigne  de  Mericourt, 
clad  in  a  blood-red  riding  dress,  and  armed  with  sword  and 
pistol.  This  notorious  woman  had  acted  a  prominent  part 
in  former  scenes.  She  led  the  attack  upon  the  Bastille. 
She  led  the  mob  which  brought  the  king  from  Versailles 
to  Paris.  In  the  subsequent  riots  life  and  death  hung  upon 
her  nod,  and  in  one  of  them  she  met  her  betrayer.  He 
begged  piteously  for  her  pardon  and  his  life,  and  thjs  was 
her  answer,  if  we  believe  Lamartine :  "  My  pardon  !"  said 
she,  "  at  what  price  can  you  buy  it  ?  My  innocence  gone, 
my  family  lost  to  me,  my  brothers  and  sisters  pursued  in 
their  own  country  by  the  jeers  of  their  kindred ;  the  male- 
dictions of  my  father ;  my  exile  from  my  native  land ;  my 
enrollment  among  courtesans ;  the  blood  by  which  my  days 
have  been  and  will  be  stained;  that  imperishable  curse  of 
vice  linked  to  my  name  instead  of  that  immortality  of  virtue 
which  you  once  taught  me  to  doubt — it  is  for  this  that  you 
would  buy  my  forgiveness — do  you  know  of  any  price  on 
earth  sufficient  to  purchase  it?"  And  he  was  massacred. 
She  died  forty  years  afterwards  in  a  mad-house,  for  in  the 
fate  of  the  revolution,  she  was  stripped  and  whipped  in  the 
streets  to  madness  by  the  very  women  she  had  led. 

These  loathsome  cohorts  forced  their  way  into  the 
palace.  They  invaded  the  rooms  of  the  king  and  queen. 
They  struck  at  him  with  pikes,  and  forced  upon  his  head 
the  red  bonnet  of  the  Jacobins,  while  the  most  wretched 
of  her  sex  encircled  the  queen  with  a  living  wall  of 


MADAME  ROLAND.  327 

vice,  and  loaded  her  with  obscene  execrations,  charges,  and 
epithets. 

Although  this  outbreak  has  been  charged  to  both  the 
great  political  parties,  it  is  probably  nearer  to  truth  to  say 
that  it  originated  spontaneously  with  that  demoniac  mob 
soon  to  rule  France,  and  which  from  this  time  carried  all 
political  organizations  with  it.  The  Girondists,  however, 
still  retained  enough  of  their  constitutional  conservatism  to 
be  the  only  hope  which  royalty  could  have  for  its  preserva- 
tion. The  king  again  threw  himself  into  their  arms. 
Eoland  was  reinstated  in  his  ministry,  and  the  palace  again 
received  his  wife. 

Then  every  revolutionary  element  began  at  once  to  com- 
bine against  the  king  and  the  party  which  was  thus  support- 
ing him.  It  was  soon  apparent  that  the  king  and  the 
Girondists  could  neither  govern  the  country  nor  save  them- 
selves if  they  acted  together.  The  Gironde,  from  about  this 
time,  pusillanimously  conceded  point  by  point  to  the 
anarchic  demands  made  by  their  enemies  and  the  king's. 
Madame  Roland  did  not  join  them  in  this,  but  when  she 
saw  that  her  husband  was  but  a  minister  in  name,  that  he 
and  his  associates  were  powerless  to  punish  murder  and 
prevent  anarchy,  doubtless  the  vision^  which  she  had  seen  of 
a  people  regenerated  and  free  began  to  fade  away.  The 
Gironde  consented  to  the  imprisonment  of  the  royal  family 
in  the  Temple.  This  was  not  concession  enough.  The 
Jacobins,  with  the  paob  at  their  back,  accused  them  not 
only  of  lack  of  works,  but  of  lack  of  faith,  and  when  such 
an  accusation  against  a  party  becomes  the  expression  of  a 
popular  conviction,  that  party  has  nothing  to  do  except  to 
die.  To  prove  this  charge  untrue,  the  Gironde  united  with 
their  enemies  in  abolishing  the  monarchy  and  establishing 
a  republic.  Madame  Roland  drew  up  a  plan  for  a  republic, 


328  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

but  it  was  too  late  for  such  a  one  as  she  desired.  Her 
scheme  was  federative,  like  our  own,  in  which  the  provinces 
of  France  should  have  the  status  of  states.  This  plan  was 
a  blow  at  the  mob  of  Paris,  which,  through  the  Jacobin 
clubs,  with  which  France  was  thickly  sown,  controlled  the 
nation.  The  republic  which  followed  was  such  only  in 
name.  The  mob  of  Paris  now  stepped  from  behind  the 
transparent  screen,  whence  it  had  moved  all  parties  like 
wire-hung  puppets,  and  stood  disclosed  before  the  world  in 
all  its  colossal  horror,  stained  with  blood,  breathing  flames, 
and  grasped  directly  the  springs  of  power.  The  national 
assembly  was  like  a  keeper  of  lunatics  captured  by  his 
patients.  Its  members  were  crowded  in  their  seats  by 
blood-thirsty  men,  depraved  women,  and  by  merciless 
visionaries,  who  clamored  for  extirpation  and  destruction, 
absolute  and  universal. 

The  power  of  Roland  as  a  minister  became  as  feeble  as 
a  shadow's  hand.  The  blade  of  the  guillotine  rose  and  fell 
automatically.  Thousands  fled  from  the  city,  upon  which 
heaven  itself  seemed  to  rain  fire  and  plagues.  The  armies 
of  foreign  kings  were  upon  the  soil  of  France,  and 
were  fast  advancing,  and  the  wild  rumors  of  their  coming 
roused  the  people  to  panic,  and  frenzied  resolutions  of  re- 
sistance and  retribution.  Thousands,  whose  only  crime  was 
a  suspected  want  of  sympathy,  were  crowded  into  the 
prisons  of  Paris.  Hoary  age,  the  bounding  boy,  the  tender 
virgin,  the  loving  wife,  the  holy  priest,  the  sainted  nun,  the 
titled  lady,  filed  along  with  the  depraved  of  both  sexes  in 
endless  procession  through  those  massive  gates,  never  more 
to  see  the  sky  and  the  green  earth  again.  For  the  mob  had 
resolved  to  extirpate  its  enemies  in  the  city  before  marching 
against  foreign  invaders.  It  went  from  prison  to  prison, 
bursting  in  the  doors,  and  slaughtering  without  distinction 


MADAME  ROLAND.  329 

of  age,  sex,  or  condition.  Madame  Roland  was  nearly  fran- 
tic over  these  scenes.  Her  divinity  had  turned  to  Moloch 
in  her  very  presence.  Her  husband  called  for  troops  to  stop 
the  horrible  massacre,  but  none  were  furnished,  and  it  went  on 
until  men  were  too  tired  to  slay.  These  acts  were  doubtless 
incited  by  the  Jacobin  leaders,  though  they  cloaked  with 
secrecy  their  complicity  in  these  great  crimes.  The  Jacobins 
became  all-powerful.  The  Girondists  became  the  party  of 
the  past,  and  from  this  time  their  history  is  a  record  of  a 
party  in  name,  but  in  such  act  of  dissolution  as  to  make  its 
efforts  spasmodic,  clique-like,  and  personal ;  sometimes 
grand,  sometimes  cruel,  and  often  cowardly.  They  were  un- 
der the  coercion  of  public  opinion,  but  were  dragged  instead 
of  driven  by  it.  They  frequently  held  back,  but  this  was 
merely  a  halt,  which  accelerated  the  rapidity  of  the  march 
which  left  them  at  the  scaffold,  where  they  regained  their 
heroism  in  the  presence  of  death,  while  the  bloody  mob 
went  on  to  a  similar  ending  a  little  distance  beyond. 

When  the  lull  came,  after  the  massacre,  the  two  parties 
stood  looking  at  each  other  across  the  river  of  blood.  The 
Jacobins  accused  the  Girondists  of  being  enemies  of  the 
country.  It  is  characteristic  of  revolutionary  times  to  accuse 
vaguely  and  to  punish  severely.  Socrates  died  as  an  alleged 
corrupter  of  youth.  Pilate,  after  acquitting  Jesus  of  the 
crime  of  high  treason,  suffered  him  to  be  executed  for 
"teaching  throughout  all  Jewry."  "Roundhead"  and 
"Cavalier"  were  once  expressive  terms  of  condemnation. 
In  our  own  times  the  words  "  slave-holder,"  "  abolitionist," 
"  loyal,"  "  disloyal,"  and  "  rebel "  have  formed  the  com- 
pendious summing  up  of  years  of  history.  An  indictment 
is  compressed  into  an  epithet  in  such  times.  In  the  time 
of  Madame  Roland,  to  be  "  a  suspect "  was  to  be  punishable 
with  death.  So  the  Jacobins  suspected  the  Girondists,  and 


330  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

accused  them  of  being  enemies  of  France.  They  introduced 
measures  which  pandered  to  the  bloodthirst  of  the  mob,  and 
for  which  the  Girondists  were  compelled  either  to  vote  or  to 
draw  upon  themselves  its  vengeance.  Madame  Roland 
urged  and  entreated  the  Girondists  to  make  one  last  struggle 
for  law,  liberty,  and  order,  by  moving  to  bring  to  justice  the 
ringleaders  in  the  massacre,  including  the  Jacobin  chiefs, 
who  instigated  it.  This  issue  was  made  in  the  assembly, 
but  it  was  voted  down  before  the  tiger-roar  of  the  mob 
which  raged  in  the  hall.  The  Jacobins  resolved  to  destroy 
Madame  Roland,  whose  courage  had  prompted  this  attack 
upon  them,  and  for  which  she  had  become  the  object  of 
their  intensest  hate.  They  suborned  an  adventurer  named 
Viard  to  accuse  her  of  being  privy  to  a  correspondence  with 
the  English  Government  for  the  purpose  of  saving  the  life 
of  the  king.  She  was  summoned  before  the  assembly  to 
confront  her  accuser.  She  appeared  in  the  midst  of  her 
enemies,  armed  with  innocence,  resplendent  with  beauty,  de- 
fended by  her  own  genius.  Her  very  presence  extorted  ap- 
plause from  reluctant  lips.  She  looked  upon  her  accuser, 
and  he  faltered.  By  a  few  womanly  words  she  tore  his 
calumny  into  shreds,  and  left  amid  plaudits.  Justice  thus 
returned  once  more  to  illumine  that  place  by  a  fleeting 
gleam,  and  then  with  this  woman  left  it  forever, 

The  Jacobins  pressed  the  trial  of  the  king.  The  mob 
demanded  him  as  a  victim.  The  Girondists  voted  with  the 
Jacobins  that  he  was  guilty ;  but  they  voted  to  leave  the 
sentence  to  the  determination  of  the  French  people,  and 
when  they  were  defeated  in  this  they  voted  for  his  death.  I 
am  unable  to  find  any  thing  in  the  memorials  of  Madame 
Roland  which  shows  that  she  had  any  sympathy  with  this. 
"What  is  written  tends  rather  to  show  that  she  was  in  the  very 
apathy  and  lassitude  of  horror.  From  the  time  when  her 


MADAME  ROLAND.  331 

courageous  effort  to  work  justice  upon  the  abettors  and  per- 
petrators of  the  massacre  failed,  her  history  ceases  to  be  po- 
litical and  becomes  personal. 

The  revolutionary  tribunal  was  reorganized,  consisting 
of  twenty  judges,  a  jury,  and  a  public  accuser.  Merlin  of 
Douai,  a  consummate  jurist,  proposed  a  statute,  in  every 
line  of  which  suspicion,  treachery,  and  hate  found  an  arsenal 
of  revenge.  It  provided  that :  "  Immediately  after  the  pub- 
lication of  this  present  decree,  all  suspected  persons  who  are 
found  in  the  territory  of  the  republic,  and  who  are  still  at 
liberty,  shall  be  arrested. 

"Are  deemed  suspected  all  persons  who,  by  their  con- 
duct, writings,  or  language,  have  proved  themselves  parti- 
sans of  tyranny,  federalism,  and  enemies  of  liberty; 

"  Those  who  can  not  prove  they  possess  the  means  of 
existence,  and  that  they  have  fully  performed  all  of  their 
duties  as  citizens; 

"Those  to  whom  certificates  of  citizenship  have  been 
refused ; 

"  Those  of  noble  families — fathers,  mothers,  sons,  daugh- 
ters, sisters,  husbands,  wives,  and  agents — who  have  not  con- 
stantly manifested  their  attachment  to  the  Revolution." 

The  traveler,  standing  upon  the  stone  seats  of  the 
Flavian  amphitheater,  looks  down  into  the  arena,  and  peo- 
ples the  Coliseum  with  the  criminals  and  the  innocent 
martyrs,  shut  out  from  hope  by  its  merciless  walls  and  by  a 
populace  more  merciless,  and  slain  by  thousands  by  wild 
beasts  and  swordsmen  and  spearsmen,  to  make  a  Roman 
holiday.  How  complacently  he  felicitates  himself  upon  the 
assumption  that  modern  times  present  nothing  like  this. 
But  less  than  one  hundred  years  ago,  the  pen  of  a  lawyer 
erected  in  France  a  statute  which  inclosed  a  kingdom  with 
its  architectural  horror,  made  one  arena  of  an  empire,  and 


332  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

in  one  year  drank  up  more  blood  than  sank  into  the  sands 
of  the  Coliseum  iu  centuries. 

The  revolutionary  tribunal  was  in  permanent  session. 
Its  trials  were  summary.  It  heard  with  predetermination, 
and  decided  without  evidence.  It  was  the  mere  routine 
formality  of  death.  Proof  often  consisted  solely  in  the 
identification  of  the  person  whose  death  had  been  predeter- 
mined. ,  Prostitutes  sold  acquittals,  and  revenged  themselves 
by  convictions.  Paris  now  ruled  France,  the  Jacobins  ruled 
Paris,  and  the  mob  ruled  the  Jacobins.  They  had  pressed 
the  Girondists,  those  men  of  lofty  genius  and  superb  elo- 
quence, from  their  high  position  into  complicity  with  crimes 
with  which  they  had  no  sympathy,  and  this  want  of  sym- 
pathy now  became  their  crime.  It  was  resolved  to  destroy 
them.  The  mob  of  Paris  again  came  forth.  Devilish  men 
and  women  again  crowded  the  assembly,  and  even  took  part 
in  its  deliberations.  The  act  of  accusation  was  passed,  and 
twenty-six  of  the  leaders  of  the  Gironde  went  from  their 
places  to  the  scaifold,  where  they  suffered  death  sublimely. 

Madame  Roland  was  also  arrested.  Her  husband  had 
fled  from  Paris.  She  was  consigned  to  the  prison  of  St. 
Pelagic,  and  afterwards,  after  suffering  the  cruel  mockery 
of  a  release,  she  was  imprisoned  in  the  Conciergerie.  This 
prison  was  the  abiding  place  of  assassins,  thieves,  and  all 
impurity.  It  was  the  anteroom  to  the  scaffold,  for  incar- 
ceration there  was  an  infallible  symptom  of  death.  The  in- 
mates were  crowded  into  rooms  with  merciless  disregard  of 
their  relative  characters  or  antecedents.  Madame  Roland 
was  first  associated  with  the  duchess  of  Grammont,  with  a 
female  pick-pocket,  with  a  nun,  with  an  insane  woman,  and 
with  a  street-walker.  She  finally  procured  a  cell  to  herself, 
which  she  made  bloom  with  flowers.  The  prison  was  pop- 
ulous with  the  most  degraded  of  her  sex.  Yet  she  asserted 


MADAME  ROLAND.  333 

here  the  same  marvelous  ascendancy  which  she  had  always 
possessed  over  her  associates.  The  obscene  outcries  of  lost 
women  died  away  when  she  approached.  Her  cell  was  an 
ark  of  safety  for  any  dove  seeking  refuge  from  that  deluge 
of  human  sin.  When  she  went  into  the  courtyard  the  lost 
of  her  own  sex  gathered  around  her  with  reverence,  as 
around  a  tutelary  and  interceding  angel,  the  same  women 
who  inflicted  upon  Madame  Du  Barry,  that  princess  of  their 
caste,  every  torment  which  the  malice  of  their  sex  could  in- 
spire. Inmates  and  visitors  crowded  to  the  door  of  her  cell, 
and  she  spoke  to  them  through  its  iron  bars  with  eloquence, 
which  increased  as  inspiring  death  drew  near,  of  liberty, 
country,  equality,  and  of  better  days  for  France,  but  when 
they  went  away  she  would  look  through  her  window  to  the 
sky,  and,  thinking  of  her  hunted  husband  and  sequestered 
little  daughter,  cry  and  moan  like  the  simplest  wife  and 
mother.  Then  she  would  send  by  surreptitious  conveyance, 
letters  to  refugee  statesmen,  which  discussed  the  political 
situation  as  calmly  as  if  written  upon  the  work-table  of  a 
secure  and  peaceful  home.  Calumny  now  busied  itself  to 
defile  her.  Hebert,  vilest  of  editors,  flung  the  ordure  of 
Pere  Duchesne,  vilest  of  newspapers,  upon  this  spotless  wo- 
man, soon  to  be  a  saint,  and  sent  the  newsmen  to  cry  the 
disgusting  charges  under  her  prison  windows,  so  that  she 
heard  them  rendered  in  all  the  villainies  of  a  language  whose 
under-drains  have  sources  of  vileness  filthier  than  any  other 
speech  of  man.  She  did  not  fear  death,  but  she  did  fear 
calumny.  She  had  never  delighted  in  any  public  display  of 
her  enormous  intellectual  powers,  and  she  had  never  made 
any  such  display.  She  had  fixed  the  sentiment  of  Lyons  by 
an  anonymous  newspaper  article,  of  which  sixty  thousand 
copies  had  been  bought  in  one  day.  She  had  written  to 
the  king  a  letter  which  drove  her  husband  from  power, 


334  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

and  which,  when  read  by  the  people,  compelled  the  king  to 
restore  him.  She  had  written  a  dispatch  to  the  pope,  claim- 
ing rights  for  certain  French  in  Rome,  in  which  the  sanctity 
of  his  office  and  the  dignity  of  her  country  was  respected, 
appealed  to,  and  asserted.  It  is  said  that  the  state  papers 
were  hers  which  persuaded  William  Pitt  to  abstain  so  long 
from  intervention  in  the  affairs  of  France,  in  that  time  of 
English  terror  and  hope,  which  furnished  arguments  to  Fox, 
and  which  drew  from  Burke  those  efforts  of  massive  reason 
and  gorgeous  imagination  which  will  endure  as  long  as  the 
language  itself.  The  counsel  by  which  she  had  disentangled 
the  perplexity  of  wisest  men  had  been  repeated  by  them  to 
applauding  senates  in  tones  less  eloquent  than  those  by  which 
they  had  been  received,  and  triumph  had  followed.  In  none 
of  these  efforts  did  she  avow  herself.  She  shrank  from  the 
honors  which  solicited  her,  though  the  world  knew  that  they 
came  from  her  just  as  the  world  knows  that  moon  and  planets 
shine  with  the  reflected  light  of  a  hidden  sun.  But  now, 
when  thus  assailed,  she  resolved  to  speak  personally  and  for 
herself.  And  so,  sitting  in  her  cell,  she  wrote  in  conceal- 
ment and  sent  out  by  trusty  hands,  in  cantos,  that  autobiog- 
raphy in  which  she  appealed  to  posterity,  and  by  which  pos- 
terity has  been  convinced.  She  traced  her  career  from  earliest 
childhood  down  to  the  very  brink  of  the  grave  into  which 
she  was  looking.  Her  intellectual,  affectional  and  mental 
history  are  all  there  written  with  a  hand  as  steady  and  a 
mind  as  serene  as  though  she  were  at  home,  with  her  baby 
sleeping  in  its  cradle  by  her  side.  Here  are  found  history, 
philosophy,  political  science,  poetry,  and  ethics  as  they  were 
received  and  given  out  again  by  one  of  the  most  receptive 
and  imparting  minds  ever  possessed  by  woman.  She  knew 
that  husband,  home,  child,  and  friends  were  not  for  her  any 
more,  and  that  very  soon  she  was  to  see  the  last  of  earth 


MADAME  ROLAND.  335 

from  beside  the  headsman  and  from  the  block,  and  yet  she 
turned  from  all  regret  and  fear,  and  summoned  the  great 
assize  of  posterity,  "  of  foreign  nations  and  the  next  ages," 
to  do  her  justice.  There  was  no  sign  of  fear.  She  looked 
as  calmly  on  what  she  knew  she  must  soon  undergo  as 
the  spirit  released  into  never-ending  bliss  looks  back 
upon  the  corporeal  trammels  from  which  it  has  just  earned 
its  escape. 

There  are  those  who  believe  that  a  woman  can  not  be 
great  as  she  was  and  still  be  pure.  These  ghouls  of  his- 
tory will  to  the  end  of  time  dig  into  the  graves  where  such 
queens  lie  entombed.  This  woman  has  slept  serenely  for 
nearly  a  century.  Sweet  oblivion  has  dimmed  with  denial 
and  forgetfulness  the  obloquy  which  hunted  her  in  her  last 
days.  Tears  such  as  are  shed  for  vestal  martyrs  have  been 
shed  for  her,  and  for  all  her  faults  she  has  the  condonation 
of  universal  sorrow.  Nothing  but  the  evil  magic  of  sym- 
pathetic malice  can  restore  these  calumnies,  and  even  then 
they  quickly  fade  away  in  the  sunlight  of  her  life.  Noth- 
ing can  touch  her  further.  Dismiss  them  with  the  exor- 
cism of  Carlyle,  grown  strangely  tender  and  elegiac  here. 
"  Breathe  not  thy  poison  breath  !  Evil  speech  !  That  soul 
is  taintless;  clear  as  the  mirror  sea."  She  was  brought  to 
trial.  The  charge  against  her  was,  "  That  there  has  existed 
a  horrible  conspiracy  against  the  unity  and  indivisibility 
of  the  French  people ;  that  Marie  Jeanne  Phlipon,  wife  of 
Jean  Marie  Roland  has  been  one  of  the  abettors  or  accom- 
plices of  that  conspiracy."  This  was  the  formula  by  which 
this  woman  was  killed,  and  it  simply  meant  that  the  Gironde 
had  existed  and  that  she  had  sympathized  with  it. 

She  was  racked  with  interrogations,  and  returned  to  the 
prison,  weeping  at  the  infernal  imputations  which  they  cast 
upon  her  womanhood.  On  the  day  of  her  final  trial  she 


336  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

dressed  herself  in  spotless  white,  and  let  fall  the  voluminous 
masses  of  her  brown,  abundant  hair.  She  was  asked  to 
betray  her  husband  by  disclosing  his  hiding  place.  Her 
answer  is  full  of  wifely  loyalty  and  dignity — "  Whether  I 
know  it  or  not  I  neither  ought  nor  will  say." 

There  was  absolutely  no  evidence  against  her  except  of 
her  affiliations  with  the  Girondists.  The  mockery  ended 
by  her  condemnation  to  death  within  twenty-four  hours, 
and  this  Iphigenia  of  France  went  doomed  back  to  her  cell. 
Her  return  was  awaited  with  dreadful  anxiety  by  her  asso- 
ciates in  confinement,  who  hoped  against  hope  for  her  safe 
deliverance.  As  she  passed  through  the  massive  doors,  she 
smiled,  and  drew  her  hand  knife-like  across  her  neck,  and 
then  there  went  up  a  wail  from  all  assembled  there,  the 
wail  of  titled  women,  of  sacred  nuns,  of  magdalens  and 
thieves,  a  dirge  of  inconsolable  sorrow,  of  humanity  weep- 
ing for  its  best  beloved  child. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  November  8,  1693,  the  rude 
cart  which  was  to  bear  her  to  the  guillotine  received  her. 
She  was  dressed  in  white ;  her  hair  fell  like  a  mantle  to  her 
knees.  The  chilly  air  and  her  own  courage  brought  back 
to  her  prison-blanched  cheek  the  rosy  hues  of  youth.  She 
spoke  words  of  divine  patience  to  the  crowd  which  surged 
around  her  on  her  way  and  reviled  her.  With  a  few  low 
words  she  raised  the  courage  of  a  terror-stricken  old  man 
who  took  with  her  the  same  last  journey,  and  made  him 
smile.  As  the  hours  wore  into  twilight,  she  passed  the 
home  of  her  youth,  and  perhaps  longed  to  become  a  little 
child  again  and  enter  there  and  be  at  rest.  At  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold  she  asked  for  pen  and  paper  to  bequeath  to 
posterity  the  thoughts  which  crowded  upon  her;  they  were 
refused,  and  thus  was  one  of  the  books  of  the  sibyls  lost. 
She  bowed  to  the  great  statue  of  Liberty  near  by,  exclaim- 


MADAME  ROLAND.  337 

ing,  "  0  Libertt !  comme  on  tj  a  jouee  /"*  and  gave  her 
majestic  form  to  the  headsman  to  be  bound  upon  the 
plank. 

The  knife  fell,  and  the  world  darkened  upon  the  death 
of  the  qneenliest  woman  who  ever  lived  and  loved. — Ex- 
GOVERXOR  C.  K.  DAVIS,  of  Minnesota. 

What  though  the  triumph  of  thy  fond  forecasting 
Lingers  till  earth  is  fading  from  thy  sight  ? 

Thy  part  with  Him  whose  arms  are  everlasting, 
Is  not  forsaken  in  a  hopeless  night. 

Paul  was  begotten  in  the  death  of  Stephen ; 

Fruitful  through  time  shall  be  that  precious  blood : 
No  morning  yet  has  ever  worn  to  even 

And  missed  the  glory  of  its  crimson  flood. 

There  is  a  need  of  all  the  blood  of  martyrs, 

Forevermore  the  eloquence  of  God; 
And  there  is  need  of  him  who  never  barters 

His  patience  in  that  desert  way  the  Master  trod. 

What  mean  the  strange,  hard  words, "  through  tribulation  ?" 

O  Man  of  sorrows,  only  Thou  canst  tell, 
And  such  as  in  Thy  life's  humiliation, 

Have  oft  been  with  Thee,  ay,  have  known  Thee  well. 

The  failures  of  the  world  are  God's  successes, 

Although  their  coming  be  akin  to  pain ; 
And  frowns  of  Providence  are  but  caresses, 

Prophetic  of  the  rest  sought  long  in  vain. 


*O  Liberty !  how  they  have  counterfeited  thee ! 

It  is  generally  understood,  however,  that  her  last  words  were: 
0  Liberte!  que  de  crimes  on  commet  en  ton  nom!  (O  Liberty!  what 
crimes  are  committed  in  thy  name!) 

22 


XXXVI. 

JWB  BRAVE. 


THE  DUKE   OF  WELLINGTON— SIR  WALTER    RALEIGH— XENOPHON- 
C^SAR— NELSON— HENRY  OF  NAVARRE— QUEEN   ELIZABETH- 
SYDNEY  SMITH— ROBERT  HALI LATIMER— TOM  HOOD. 


ARON  MUFFLING  relates  of  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, that  that  great  general  remained  at  the 
Duchess  of  Richmond's  ball  till  about  three  o'clock 
on  the  morning  of  the  16th  of  June,  1815,  "show- 
ing himself  very  cheerful."  The  baron,  who  is  a  very  good 
authority  on  the  subject,  having  previously  proved  that  every 
plan  was  laid  in  the  duke's  mind,  and  Quatre  Bras  and 
Waterloo  fully  detailed,  we  may  comprehend  the  value  of 
the  sentence.  It  was  the  bold,  trusting  heart  of  the  hero 
that  made  him  cheerful.  He  showed  himself  cheerful,  too, 
at  Waterloo.  He  was  never  very  jocose;  but  on  that  mem- 
orable 18th  of  June  he  showed  a  symptom  of  it.  He  rode 
along  the  line  and  cheered  men  by  his  look  and  his  face,  and 
they  too  cheered  him.  But,  when  the  danger  was  over — 
when  the  21,000  brave  men  of  his  own  and  the  Prussian 
army  lay  stiffening  in  death — the  duke,  who  was  so  cheerful 
in  the  midst  of  his  danger,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands 
and  wept.  He  asked  for  that  friend,  and  he  was  slain ;  for 
this,  and  a  bullet  had  pierced  his  heart.  The  men  who  had 
devoted  themselves  to  death  for  their  leader  and  their  coun- 
try had  been  blown  to  pieces,  or  pierced  with  lances,  or 
hacked  with  sabers,  and  lay,  like  Ponsonby  covered  with 
thirteen  wounds,  upon  the  ground.  Well  might  the  duke 
weep,  iron  though  he  was.  "  There  is  nothing,"  he  writes, 
"  nothing  in  the  world  so  dreadful  as  a  battle  lost,  unless  it 
338 


CHEERFUL  AND  BRAVE.  339 

be  such  a  battle  won.  Nothing  can  compensate  for  the 
dreadful  cruelty,  carnage,  and  misery  of  the  scene,  save  the 
reflection  on  the  public  good  which  may  arise  from  it." 

Forty  years'  peace  succeeded  the  great  battle.  Forty 
years  of  prosperity,  during  which  he  himself  went  honored 
to  his  tomb,  rewarded  the  constant  brave  look  and  tongue 
which  answered  his  men,  when  he  saw  the  whole  side  of  a 
square  blown  in,  with  "  Hard  work,  gentlemen !  They  are 
pounding  away!  "We  must  see  who  can  pound  the  longest." 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  constant  cheerfulness  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  one  great  element  of  success 
in  the  greatest  battle  ever  fought,  one  of  the  fifteen  decisive 
battles  in  the  world,  great  in  the  number  engaged,  greater 
in  the  slaughter,  greatest  in  the  results.  But  all  com- 
manders ought  to  be  cheerful.  Gloomy  looks  do  not  do  in 
the  army.  A  set  of  filibusters  or  pirates  may  wear  looks 
and  brows  as  black  as  the  sticking-plasters  boots  that  their 
representatives  are  dressed  in  at  the  minor  theaters;  but  a 
soldier  or  a  sailor  should  be,  and  as  a  rule  is,  the  most 
cheerful  of  fellows,  doing  his  duty  in  the  trench  or  the 
storm,  dying  when  the  bullet  comes,  but  living  like  a  hero 
the  while.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the  whole-hearted  cheer- 
fulness of  Raleigh,  when  with  his  small  English  ships  he 
cast  himself  against  the  navies  of  Spain ;  or  at  Xenophon, 
conducting  back  from  an  inhospitable  and  hostile  country,  and 
through  unknown  paths,  his  ten  thousand  Greeks ;  or  Caesar, 
riding  up  and  down  the  banks  of  the  Rubicon,  sad  enough 
belike  when  alone,  but  at  the  head  of  his  men  cheerful,  joy- 
ous, well  dressed,  rather  foppish,  in  fact,  his  face  shining 
with  good  humor  as  with  oil.  Again,  Nelson,  in  the  worst  of 
dangers,  was  as  cheerful  as  the  day.  He  had  even  a  rough 
but  quiet  humor  in  him  just  as  he  carried  his  coxswain  be- 
hind him  to  bundle  the  swords  of  the  Spanish  and  French 


340  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

captains  under  his  arm.  He  could  clap  his  telescope  to  his 
blind  eye,  and  say,  "  Gentlemen,  I  can  not  make  out  the 
signal,"  when  the  signal  was  adverse  to  his  wishes,  and  then 
go  in  and  win,  in  spite  of  recall.  Fancy  the  dry  laughs 
which  many  an  old  sea-dog  has  had  over  that  cheerful  inci- 
dent. How  the  story  lights  up  the  dark  page  of  history ! 
Then  there  was  Henry  of  Navarre,  lion  in  war,  winner  of 
hearts,  bravest  of  the  brave,  who  rode  down  the  'ranks  at 
Ivry  when  Papist  and  Protestant  were  face  to  face,  when 
more  than  his  own  life  and  kingdom  were  at  stake,  and  all 
the  horrors  of  religious  war  were  loosened  and  unbound, 
ready  to  ravage  poor,  unhappy  France.  That  beaming, 
hopeful  countenance  won  the  battle,  and  is  a  parallel  to  the 
brave  looks  of  Queen  Elizabeth  when  she  cheered  her  En- 
glishmen at  Tilbury. 

But  we  are  not  all  soldiers  or  sailors,  although,  too,  our 
Christian  profession  hath  adopted  the  title  of  soldiers  in  the 
battle  of  life.  It  is  all  very  well  to  cite  great  commanders 
who,  in  the  presence  of  danger,  excited  by  hope,  with  the 
eyes  of  twenty  thousand  men  upon  them,  are  cheerful  and 
happy;  but  what  is  that  to  the  solitary  author,  the  poor 
artist,  the  governess,  the  milliner,  the  shoemaker,  the 
factory-girl,  they  of  the  thousand  persons  in  profession  or 
trade  who  are  given  to  murmur,  and  who  think  life  so  hard 
and  gloomy  and  wretched  that  they  can  not  go  through  it 
with  a  smile  on  their  faces  and  despair  in  their  hearts? 
What  are  examples  and  citations  to  them  ?  "  Hecuba !" 
cries  out  poor,  melancholy,  morbid  Hamlet,  striking  on  a 
vein  of  thought,  "  what's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba?" 
Much. 

We  all  have  trials ;  but  it  is  certain  that  good  temper  and 
cheerfulness  will  make  us  bear  them  more  easily  than  any 
thing  else.  "  Temper,"  said  one  of  our  bishops,  "  is  nine- 


CHEERFUL  AND  BRA  VE.  341 

tenths  of  Christianity."  We  do  not  live  now  in  the  Middle 
Ages.  We  can  not  think  that  the  sect  of  Flagellants,  who 
whipped  themselves  till  the  blood  ran  into  their  shoes,  and 
pulled  uncommonly  long  faces,  were  the  best  masters  of 
philosophy.  "  True  godliness  is  cheerful  as  the  day,"  wrote 
Cowper,  himself  melancholy-mad  enough ;  and  we  are  to  re- 
member that  the  precept  of  the  Founder  of  our  faith,  that 
when  we  fast  we  are  to  anoint  our  countenances  and  not  to 
seem  to  fast,  enjoins  a  certain  liveliness  of  face.  Sydney 
Smith,  when  a  poor  curate  at  Foster-le-Clay,  a  dreary,  deso- 
late place,  wrote :  "  I  am  resolved  to  like  it,  and  to  reconcile 
myself  to  it,  which  is  more  manly  than  to  fancy  myself 
above  it,  and  to  send  up  complaints  by  the  post  of  being 
thrown  away,  or  being  desolated,  and  such  like  trash."  And 
he  acted  up  to  this ;  said  his  prayers,  made  his  jokes,  did  his 
duty,  and,  upon  fine  mornings,  used  to  draw  up  the  blinds 
of  his  parlor,  open  the  window,  and  "  glorify  the  room,"  as 
he  called  the  operation,  with  sunshine.  But  all  the  sunshine 
without  was  nothing  to  the  sunshine  within  the  heart.  It 
was  that  which  made  him  go  through  life  so  bravely  and 
so  well;  it  is  that,  too,  which  renders  his  life  a  lesson  to 
us  all. 

We  must  also  remember  that  the  career  of  a  poor  curate 
is  not  the  most  brilliant  in  the  world.  That  of  an  appren- 
tice boy  has  more  fun  in  it;  that  of  a  milliner's  girl  has 
more  merriment  and  fewer  depressing  circumstances.  To 
hear  always  the  same  mistrust  of  Providence,  to  see  poverty, 
to  observe  all  kinds  of  trial,  to  witness  death-bed  scenes — 
this  is  not  the  most  enlivening  course  of  existence,  even  if 
a  clergyman  be  a  man  of  mark  and  of  station.  But  there 
was  one  whose  station  was  not  honored,  nay,  even  by  some 
despised,  and  who  had  sorer  trials  than  Sydney  Smith.  His 
name  is  well  known  in  literature ;  and  his  writings  and  his 


342  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

example  still  teach  us  in  religion.  This  was  Robert  Hall,  a 
professor  of  a  somber  creed  in  a  somber  flat  country,  as  flat 
and  "deadly-lively,"  as  they  say,  as  need  be.  To  add  to 
difficulties  and  troubles,  the  minister  was  plagued  with  about 
as  painful  an  illness  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  humanity  to  bear. 
He  had  fought  with  infidelity  and  doubt;  he  had  refused 
promotion,  because  he  would  do  his  duty  where  it  had 
pleased  God  to  place  him;  next  he  had  to  show  how  well 
he  could  bear  pain.  In  all  his  trials  he  had  been  cheerful, 
forcible,  natural,  and  straightforward.  In  this  deep  one  he 
preserved  the  same  character.  Forced  to  throw  himself 
down  and  writhe  upon  the  floor  in  his  paroxysms  of  pain, 
he  rose  up,  livid  with  exhaustion,  and  with  the  sweat  of 
anguish  on  his  brow,  without  a  murmur. 

In  the  whole  library  of  brave  anecdote  there  is  no  tale 
of  heroism  which,  to  us,  beats  this.  It  very  nearly  equals 
that  of  poor,  feeble  Latimer,  cheering  up  his  fellow-martyr 
as  he  walked  to  the  stake,  "Be  of  good  cheer,  brother 
Ridley;  we  shall  this  day  light  such  a  fire  in  England  as 
by  God's  grace  shall  not  be  readily  put  out."  The  very 
play  upon  the  torture  is  brave,  yet  pathetic.  Wonderful, 
too,  was  the  boldness  and  cheerfulness  of  another  martyr, 
Rowland  Taylor,  who,  stripped  to  his  shirt,  was  forced  to 
walk  toward  the  stake,  who  answered  the  jeers  of  his  per- 
secutors and  the  tears  of  his  friends  with  the  same  noble 
constant  smile,  and,  meeting  two  of  his  very  old  parishioners 
who  wept,  stopped  and  cheered  them  as  he  went,  adding, 
that  he  went  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

Heroes  and  martyrs  are  perhaps  too  high  examples,  for 
they  may  have,  or  rather  poor,  common,  every-day  humanity 
will  think  they  have,  a  kind  of  high-pressure  sustainment. 
Let  us  look  to  our  own  prosaic  days;  let  us  mark  the  con- 
stant cheerfulness  and  manliness  of  Dr.  Maginn,  or  that 


CHEERFUL  AND  BRAVE.  343 

much  higher  heroic  bearing  of  Tom  Hood.  We  suppose 
that  every  body  knows  that  Hood's  life  was  not  of  that  brill- 
iant, sparkling,  fizzing,  banging,  astonishing  kind  which 
writers  such  as  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  and  some  others, 
depict  as  the  general  life  of  literary  men.  He  did  not,  like 
Byron,  "jump  up  one  morning,  and  find  himself  famous." 
All  the  libraries  were  not  asking  for  his  novel,  though  a 
better  was  not  written ;  countesses  and  dairy-women  did  not 
beg  his  autograph.  His  was  a  life  of  constant  hard  work, 
constant  trial  or  disappointment,  and  constant  illness,  en- 
livened only  by  a  home  affection  and  a  cheerfulness  as  con- 
stant as  his  pain.  When  slowly,  slowly  dying,  he  made 
cheerful  fun  as  often  almost  as  he  said  his  prayers.  He 
was  heard,  after,  perhaps,  being  almost  dead,  to  laugh 
gently  to  himself  in  the  still  night,  when  his  wife  or 
children,  who  were  the  watchers,  thought  him  asleep.  Many 
of  the  hard  lessons  of  fate  he  seasoned,  as  old  Latimer  did 
his  sermons,  with  a  pun,  and  he  excused  himself  from  send- 
ing more  "  copy  "  for  his  magazine  by  a  sketch,  the  "  Editor's 
Apologies,"  a  rough  pen-and-ink  drawing  of  physic-bottles 
and  leeches.  Yet  Hood  had  not  only  his  own  woes  to  bear, 
but  felt  for  others.  No  one  had  a  more  tender  heart — few 
men  a  more  catholic  and  Christian  sympathy  for  the  poor — 
than  the  writer  of  the  "Song  of  the  Shirt." 

What  such  men  as  these  have  done,  every  one  else  surely 
can  do.  Cheerfulness  is  a  Christian  duty ;  moroseness,  dul- 
ness,  gloominess,  as  false,  and  wrong,  and  cruel  as  they  are 
unchristian.  We  are  too  far  advanced  now  in  the  light  of 
truth  to  go  back  into  the  Gothic  and  conventual  gloom  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  any  more  than  we  could  go  back  to  the 
exercises  of  the  Flagellants  and  the  nonsense  of  the  pre- 
Adamites.  All  whole-hearted  peoples  have  been  lively  and 
bustling,  noisy  almost,  in  their  progress,  pushing,  energetic, 


344  BRA  VE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

broad  in  shoulder,  strong  in  lung,  loud  in  voice,  of  free 
brave  color,  bold  look,  and  bright  eyes.  They  are  the 
cheerful  people  in  the  world — 

"Active  doers,  noble  livers — strong  to  labor,  sure  to  conquer;" 

and  soon  pass  in  the  way  of  progress  the  more  quiet  and 
gloomy  of  their  fellows.  That  some  of  this  cheerfulness 
may  be  simply  animal  is  true,  and  that  a  man  may  be  a 
dullard  and  yet  sit  and  "  grin  like  a  Cheshire  cat ;"  but  we 
are  not  speaking  of  grinning.  Laughter  is  all  very  well ; 
is  a  healthy,  joyous,  natural  impulse ;  the  true  mark  of 
superiority  between  man  and  beast,  for  no  inferior  animal 
laughs ;  but  we  are  not  writing  of  laughter,  but  of  that  con- 
tinued even  tone  of  spirits,  which  lies  in  the  middle  zone 
between  frantic  merriment  and  excessive  despondency. 
Cheerfulness  arises  from  various  causes :  from  health  ;  but 
it  is  not  dependent  upon  health  ; — from  good  fortune ;  but 
it  does  not  arise  solely  from  that ; — from  honor,  and  position, 
and  a  tickled  pride  and  vanity ;  but,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is 
quite  independent  of  these.  The  truth  is,  it  is  a  brave 
habit  of  the  mind;  a  prime  proof  of  wisdom;  capable  of 
being  acquired,  and  of  the  very  greatest  value. 

A  cheerful  man  is  pre-eminently  a  useful  man.  He 
does  not  "cramp  his  mind,  nor  take  half  views  of  men  and 
things."  He  knows  that  there  is  much  misery,  but  that 
misery  is  not  the  rule  of  life.  He  sees  that  in  every  state 
people  may  be  cheerful;  the  lambs  skip,  birds  sing  and  fly 
joyously,  puppies  play,  kittens  are  full  of  joyance,  the  whole 
air  full  of  careering  and  rejoicing  insects,  that  everywhere 
the  good  outbalances  the  bad,  and  that  every  evil  that  there 
is  has  its  compensating  balm.  Then  the  brave  man,  as  our 
German  cousins  say,  possesses  the  world,  whereas  the  melan- 
choly man  does  not  even  possess  his  own  share  of  it.  Ex- 


CHEERFUL  AND  BRAVE.  345 

ercise,  or  continued  employment  of  some  kind,  will  make  a 
man  cheerful;  but  sitting  at  home,  brooding  and  thinking, 
or  doing  little,  will  bring  gloom.  The  reaction  of  this  feel- 
ing is  wonderful.  It  arises  from  a  sense  of  duty  done,  and 
it  also  enables  us  to  do  our  duty.  Cheerful  people  live  long 
in  our  memory.  We  remember  joy  more  readily  than  sor- 
row, and  always  look  back  with  tenderness  on  the  brave  and 
cheerful.  Autolycus  repeats  the  burden  of  an  old  song 
with  the  truth  that  "a  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day,  but 
your  sad  ones  tires  a  mile  a!"  and  what  he  says  any  one 
may  notice,  not  only  in  ourselves,  but  in  the  inferior  ani- 
mals also.  A  sulky  dog,  and  a  bad-tempered  horse,  wear 
themselves  out  with  half  the  labor  that  kindly  creatures  do. 
An  unkindly  cow  will  not  give  down  her  milk,  and  a  sour 
sheep  will  not  fatten;  nay,  even  certain  fowls  and  geese,  to 
those  who  observe,  will  evidence  temper — good  or  bad. 

We  can  all  cultivate  our  tempers,  and  one  of  the  em- 
ployments of  some  poor  mortals  is  to  cultivate,  cherish,  and 
bring  to  perfection,  a  thoroughly  bad  one;  but  we  may  be 
certain  that  to  do  so  is  a  very  gross  error  and  sin,  which, 
like  all  others,  brings  its  own  punishment,  though,  unfor- 
tunately, it  does  not  punish  itself  only.  If  he  "  to  whom 
God  is  pleasant  is  pleasant  to  God,"  the  reverse  also  holds 
good;  and  certainly  the  major  proposition  is  true  with  re- 
gard to  man.  Addison  says  of  cheerfulness,  that  it  lightens 
sickness,  poverty,  affliction ;  converts  ignorance  into  an 
amiable  simplicity,  and  renders  deformity  itself  agreeable; 
and  he  says  no  more  than  the  truth.  "  Give  us,  therefore, 
O  !  give  us  " — let  us  cry  with  Carlyle — "  the  man  who  sings 
at  his  work !  Be  his  occupation  what  it  may,  he  is  equal  to 
any  of  those  who  follow  the  same  pursuit  in  silent  sullen- 
ness.  He  will  do  more  in  the  same  time ;  he  will  do  it  bet- 
ter; he  will  persevere  longer.  One  is  scarcely  sensible  of 


346  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

fatigue  whilst  he  marches  to  music.  The  very  stars  are  said 
to  make  harmony  as  they  revolve  in  their  appointed  skies." 
"  Wondrous  is  the  strength  of  cheerfulness !  altogether 
past  calculation  the  powers  of  its  endurance.  Efforts,  to  be 
permanently  useful  must  be  uniformly  joyous — a  spirit  all 
sunshine — graceful  from  very  gladness — beautiful  because 
bright."  Such  a  spirit  is  within  every  body's  reach.  Let  us 
get  out  into  the  light  of  things.  The  morbid  man  cries 
out  that  there  is  always  enough  wrong  in  the  world  to  make 
a  man  miserable.  Conceded ;  but  wrong  is  ever  being  righted ; 
there  is  always  enough  that  is  good  and  right  to  make  us 
joyful.  There  is  ever  sunshine  somewhere;  and  the  brave 
man  will  go  on  his  way  rejoicing,  content  to  look  forward 
if  under  a  cloud,  not  bating  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope  if  for 
a  moment  cast  down;  honoring  his  occupation,  whatever  it 
may  be ;  rendering  even  rags  respectable  by  the  way  he  wears 
them;  and  not  only  being  happy  himself,  but  causing  the 
happiness  of  others. 


XXXVII. 


THE  LAST  SAXON  KING  OF  ENGLAND. 


HE  father  of  Harold,  the  last  Saxon  king  of  Eng- 
land, was  named  Godwin,  and  was  the  first  great 
English  statesman.  It  was  from  him  that  Harold 
in  a  great  measure  inherited  his  vigor  and  power, 
though,  indeed,  he  came  altogether  of  a  noble  race,  both  by 
lineage  and  character,  for  his  mother  was  a  daughter  of 
Canute  the  Great. 

All  the  English  loved  Harold;  he  was  strong  and  gen- 
erous, and  a  better  counselor  than  Godwin,  his  father,  in 
many  ways.  At  first  he  never  sought  any  thing  for  himself; 
but  as  time  went  on,  and  he  found  how  he  was  obeyed,  and 
how  he  was  beloved,  how  the  whole  country  turned  her  eyes 
to  him  as  the  fittest  king  when  Edward  the  Confessor  should 
be  .gone,  he  also  took  the  same  idea  into  his  mind,  and  gave 
himself  to  rule,  to  teach,  and  to  act  as  one  who  should  by 
and  by  be  king. 

Edward's  queen,  Edith,  was  Harold's  sister;  but  there 
was  another  Edith,  who  influenced  Harold  more  than  any 
one  else  in  many  ways.  From  his  boyhood  he  and  she  had 
played  together,  and  they  grew  up,  never  so  much  as  think- 
ing that  a  time  would  come  when  they  would  separate. 

The  more  Harold  saw  her  the  more  he  felt  he  should 
like  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  and  have  her  always  with 
him ;  but  there  were  many  things  which  made  that  impos- 
sible. And  then  England  required  Harold.  If  he  thought 
only  of  his  own  happiness  his  country  must  suffer.  The 

347 


348  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

great  nobles  wished  him  to  establish  the  kingdom  by  marry- 
ing the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  lords;  this 
would  connect  the  people  and  the  land  more  closely,  and 
prevent  quarrels  and  divisions;  and  the  government  required 
the  whole  of  Harold's  services,  and  the  people  required  1m 
watchfulness,  his  thought,  his  care,  his  presence. 

All  his  life  through  he  had  consulted  Edith,  and  now  at 
this  terrible  moment  he  consulted  her  again.  He  stood  be- 
fore her,  and  in  great  trouble  and  agony  of  spirit  told  her 
just  how  things  were,  scarcely  daring  to  look  at  the  woman 
he  loved ;  for  if  he  looked  at  her,  England,  her  greatness  and 
her  needs,  all  melted  away,  and  he  saw  nothing  but  a  beam- 
ing vision  of  a  quiet,  beloved  home,  free  from  the  storms  of 
the  great  world  outside. 

But  Edith  too  was  unselfish,  pure  and  good ;  so  she  put 
all  thought  of  personal  happiness  away,  and  putting  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  said,  "  Never,  O  Harold,  did  I  feel  so 
proud  of  thee,  for  Edith  could  not  love  thee  as  she  doth,  and 
will  till  the  grave  clasp  her,  if  thou  didst  not  love  England 
more  than  Edith."  So  these  two  separated. 

His  whole  energy  was  given  to  his  king  and  his  country. 
He  had  no  great  love  for  the  monks ;  but  he  sought  out  the 
good  and  noble  ones,  put  power  into  their  hands,  and  gave 
them  his  support  in  ruling  wisely  and  well.  The  Abbey  of 
Waltham  had  fallen  into  almost  complete  decay ;  he  chose 
two  humbly  born  men,  renowned  for  the  purity  and  benevo- 
lence of  their  lives,  and  gave  to  them  the  charge  of  select- 
ing a  new  brotherhood  there,  which  he  largely  endowed. 

At  last  Edward  passed  quietly  away,  and  with  one  accord 
Harold,  the  beloved,  was  chosen  king  and  crowned. 

Over  the  sea  dwelt  William,  duke  of  the  Normans. 
With  no  careless  ear  did  he  hear  that  Edward  was  dead. 
Edward  dead!  Edward!  Why,  Edward,  in  a  moment  of 


HAROLD.  349 

friendship,  had  promised  the  English  throne  to  him — had 
even,  William  asserted,  left  it  him  in  will;  therefore  his 
rage  was  great  when  he  heard  that  Harold  was  not  only  pro- 
claimed and  crowned  king,  but  was  ready  to  defend  his 
claim  by  battle  sooner  than  yield.  William  was  a  man  of 
power  and  iron  will ;  he  forced  his  reluctant  Normans  to 
listen  to  his  complaint,  equipped  an  army,  and  sailed  for 
Britain.  On  came  the  queer  little  ships  of  war,  nearer  and 
nearer  to  England's  white,  free  cliffs,  and  cast  anchor  in 
Pevensey  Bay. 

William,  eager  and  impatient,  sprang  from  his  ship; 
but  his  foot  slipping,  he  fell,  to  rise  again  with  both  his 
hands  full  of  earth,  which  he  showed  to  his  scared  soldiers 
in  triumph,  crying : 

"So  do  I  grasp  the  earth  of  a  new  country."  « 

Meanwhile  Harold  had  gathered  his  forces,  and  they 
were  assembled  on  Senlac  Hill,  an  advantageous  position. 
He  himself  was  in  the  center,  his  brave  brother  Gurth  at 
his  right  hand. 

A  general  charge  of  the  Norman  foot  opened  the  battle, 
which  raged  the  whole  day,  victory  now  leaning  to  the  En- 
glish and  now  to  the  Normans.  There  was  a  cry  that  the 
duke  was  killed.  "  I  live!"  he  shouted,  "  and  by  God's  help 
will  conquer  yet!"  And  tearing  off  his  helmet  he  rushed 
into  the  thickest  of  the  battle,  and  aimed  right  at  the  stand- 
ard. Round  that  standard  the  last  sharp,  long  struggle 
took  place.  Harold,  Gurth,  all  the  greatest  who  still  sur- 
vived, met  there.  With  his  tremendous  battle-ax  the  king 
did  mighty  slaughter,  till,  looking  upward  as  he  swung 
his  ax  with  both  hands,  a  Norman  arrow  pierced  his  eye, 
and  he  fell. 

"  Fight  on  !"  he  gasped.  "  Conceal  my  death — England 
to  the  rescue!"  One  instant  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  then 


350  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

fell  back — lifeless.  One  by  one  the  other  noble  guardians 
fell  around  him,  till  only  Gurth  was  left,  brave  chief  and 
last  man,  with  no  thought  of  surrender,  though  all  was  gone 
and  lost. 

"  Spare  him !  spare  the  brave !"  shouted  one ;  but  the 
brave  heart  was  already  pierced,  and  he  sank  beside  his 
king  and  brother.  So  fell  the  last  of  the  Saxon  kings,  and 
so  arose  the  Norman  race. 

Long  did  they  search  the  battle-field  for  Harold's  body, 
disfigured  by  wounds  and  loss  of  blood,  but  long  did  they 
seek  it  in  vain,  till  a  woman  whose  toil  had  never  ceased 
burst  into  a  sharp  cry  over  a  lifeless  form.  It  was  Edith, 
who  with  many  another  woman  had  watched  the  battle. 
The  body  was  too  changed  to  be  recognized  even  by  its 
nearest  friends ;  but  beneath  his  heart  was  punctured  in  old 
Saxon  letters  "  Edith,"  and  just  below,  in  characters  more 
fresh,  "  England,"  the  new  love  he  had  taken  when  duty 
bade  him  turn  from  Edith ;  which  recalls  the  lines  of  Love- 
lace to  Lucasta : 

"  Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind, 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 
To  war  and  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, 

The  first  foe  of  the  field  ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 

As  you  too  shall  adore ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much 

Loved  I  not  not  honor  more." 


XXXVIII. 


(BORN  1791— DIED  1883.) 
THE  LESSON  OF  A  LONG  AND  USEFUL  LIFE. 


ARZILLAI,  of  sacred  history,  was  a  very  old 
man,  a  very  kind  man,  a  very  affectionate  man,  a 
very  rich  man  of  the  tenth  century  before  CErist, 
a  type  of  our  American  philanthropist,  Peter 
Cooper,  in  the  nineteenth  century  after  Christ.  When  I 
see  Barzillai,  from  his  wealthy  country  seat  at  Rogelim, 
coming  out  to  meet  David's  retreating  army,  and  providing 
them  with  flour  and  corn  and  mattresses,  it  makes  me  think 
of  the  hearty  response  of  our  modern  philanthropist  in  time 
of  trouble  and  disaster,  whether  individual,  municipal,  or 
national.  The  snow  of  his  white  locks  has  melted  from 
our  sight,  and  the  benediction  of  his  genial  face  has  come 
to  its  long  amen.  But  his  influence  halted  not  a  half- 
second  for  his  obsequies  to  finish,  but  goes  right  on  without 
change,  save  that  of  augmentation,  for  in  the  great  sum 
of  a  useful  life  death  is  a  multiplication  instead  of  sub- 
traction, and  the  tombstone,  instead  of  being  the  goal  of 
the  race,  is  only  the  starting  point.  What  means  this  rising 
up  of  all  good  men,  with  hats  off,  in  reverence  to  one  who 
never  wielded  a  sword  or  delivered  masterly  oration  or 
stood  in  senatorial  place?  Neither  general,  nor  lord,  nor 
governor,  nor  President.  The  LL.  D.,  which  a  university 
bestowed,  did  not  stick  to  him.  The  word  mister,  as  a 
prefix,  or  the  word  esquire,  as  a  suffix,  seemed  a  superfluity. 
He  was,  in  all  Christendom,  plain  Peter  Cooper.  Why, 

361 


352  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

then,  all  the  flags  at  half-mast,  and  the  resolutions  of  com- 
mon council,  and  the  eulogium  of  legislatures,  and  the  deep 
sighs  from  multitudes  who  have  no  adequate  way  to  express 
their  bereavement? 

First,  he  was  in  some  respects  the  father  of  American 
philanthropies.  There  have  been  far  larger  sums  donated 
to  the  public  since  this  man  founded  Cooper  Institute,  but 
I  think  that  hundreds  of  the  charities  were  born  of  his 
example.  Sometimes  a  father  will  have  a  large  family  of 
children  who  grow  up  to  be  larger  than  himself.  When 
that  six-storied  temple  of  instruction  was  built  on  Fourth 
Avenue  and  Seventh  Street  by  Mr.  Cooper,  at  an  expense 
of  $630,000,  and  endowed  by  him  with  $150,000,  you  must 
remember  $100,000  was  worth  as  much  as  $500,000  now, 
and  that  millionaires,  who  are  so  common  now  that  you 
hardly  stop  to  look  at  them,  were  a  rare  spectacle. 
Stephen  Girard  and  John  Jacob  Astor,  of  the  olden  time, 
would  in  our  day  almost  excite  the  sympathy  of  some  of 
our  railroad  magnates.  The  nearly  $800,000,  which  built 
and  endowed  Cooper  Institute,  was  as  much  as  $3,000,000 
or  $5,000,000  now.  But  there  are  institutions  in  our  day 
that  have  cost  many  times  more  dollars  in  building  and 
endowment  which  have  not  accomplished  more  than  a  frac- 
tion of  the  good  done  by  this  munificence  of  1857.  This 
gift  brooded  charities  all  over  the  land.  This  mothered 
educational  institutions.  This  gave  glorious  suggestion  to 
many  whose  large  fortune  was  hitherto  under  the  iron 
grasp  of  selfishness.  If  the  ancestral  line  of  many  an 
asylum  or  infirmary  or  college  or  university  were  traced 
back  far  enough,  you  would  learn  that  Peter  Cooper  was  the 
illustrious  progenitor.  Who  can  estimate  the  effect  of  such 
an  institution,  standing  for  twenty-six  years,  saying  to  al] 
the  millions  of  people  passing  up  and  down  the  great 


PETER  COOPER.  353 

thoroughfares  :  "  I  am  here  to  bless  and  educate,  without 
money  and  without  price,  all  the  struggling  ones  who  come 
under  my  wings?"  That  institution  has  for  twenty-six 
years  been  crying  shame  on  miserliness  and  cupidity.  That 
free  reading-room  has  been  the  inspiration  of  five  hundred 
free  reading-rooms.  Great  reservoir  of  American  beneficence ! 
Again,  Peter  Cooper  showed  what  a  wise  thing  it  is  for 
a  man  to  be  his  own  executor.  How  much  better  is  ante- 
mortem  charity  than  post-mortem  beneficence.  Many  people 
keep  all  their  property  for  themselves  till  death,  and  then 
make  good  institutions  their  legatees.  They  give  up  the 
money  only  because  they  have  to.  They  would  take  it  all 
with  them  if  they  only  had  three  or  four  stout  pockets  in 
their  shroud.  Better  late  than  never,  but  the  reward  shall 
not  be  as  great  as  the  reward  of  those  who  make  charitable 
contribution  while  yet  they  have  power  to  keep  their  money. 
Charity,  in  last  will  and  testament,  seems  sometimes  to  be 
only  an  attempt  to  bribe  Charon,  the  ferryman,  to  land  the 
boat  in  celestial  rather  than  infernal  regions.  Mean  as  sin 
when  they  disembark  from  the  banks  of  this  world,  they  hope 
to  be  greeted  as  benefactors  when  they  come  up  the  beach 
on  the  other  side.  Skinflints  when  they  die,  they  hope  to 
have  the  reception  of  a  George  Peabody.  Besides  that,  how 
often  donations  by  will  and  testament  fail  of  their  final  des- 
tination. The  surrogate's  courts  are  filled  with  legal  quar- 
rels. If  a  philanthropist  has  any  pride  of  intellect,  and 
desires  to  help  Christian  institutions,  he  had  better  bestow 
the  gift  before  death,  for  the  trouble  is,  if  he  leaves  any 
large  amount  to  Christian  institutions,  the  courts  will  be 
appealed  to  to  prove  he  was  crazy.  They  will  bring  witnesses 
to  prove  that  for  a  long  time  he  has  been  becoming  im- 
becile, and  as  almost  every  one  of  positive  nature  has  idio- 
syncrasies, these  idiosyncrasies  will  be  brought  out  on  the 

23 


354  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEX. 

trial,  and  ventilated  and  enlarged  and  caricatured,  and  the 
man  who  had  mind  enough  to  make  $ 1,000,000,  and  heart 
enough  to  remember  needy  institutions,  will  be  proved  a 
fool.  If  he  have  a  second  wife,  the  children  of  the  first 
wife  will  charge  him  with  being  unduly  influenced.  Many 
a  man  who,  when  he  made  his  will,  had  more  brain  than 
all  his  household  put  together,  has  been  pronounced  a  fit 
subject  for  a  lunatic  asylum.  Be  your  own  executor.  Do 
not  let  the  benevolent  institutions  of  the  country  get  their 
chief  advantage  from  your  last  sickness  and  death.  How 
much  better,  like  Peter  Cooper,  to  walk  through  the  halls 
you  have  built  for  others  and  see  the  young  men  being  edu- 
cated by  your  beneficence,  and  to  get  the  sublime  satisfac- 
tion of  your  own  charities!  I  do  not  wonder  that  Barzillai, 
the  wealthy  Gileadite,  lived  to  be  eighty,  for  he  stood  in  the 
perpetual  sunshine  of  his  beneficence.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
Peter  Cooper,  the  modern  Barzillai,  lived  to  be  ninety-two 
years  of  age,  for  he  felt  the  healthful  reaction  of  helping 
others.  Doing  good  was  one  of  the  strongest  reasons  of  his 
longevity.  There  is  many  a  man  with  large  estate  behind 
him  who  calls  up  his  past  dollars  as  a  pack  of  hounds  to  go 
out  and  hunt  up  one  more  dollar  before  he  dies.  Away! 
away  the  hunter  and  his  hounds  for  that  last  dollar!  Hot- 
ter and  hotter  the  chase.  Closer  on  the  track  and  closer. 
Whip  up  and  spur  on  the  steed!  The  old  man  just  ahead, 
and  all  the  pack  of  hounds  close  after  him.  Now  they  are 
coming  in  at  the  death,  that  last  dollar  only  a  short  dis- 
tance ahead.  The  old  hunter,  with  panting  breath  and  pale 
cheek  and  outstretched  arm,  clutches  for  it  as  it  turns  on 
its  track,  but,  missing  it,  keeps  on  till  the  exhausted  dollar 
plunges  into  a  hole  and  burrows  and  burrows  deep ;  and  the 
old  hunter,  with  both  hands,  claws  at  the  earth,  and  claws 
deeper  down,  till  the  burrowed  embankment  gives  way,  and 


PETER  COOPER.  355 

he  rolls  over  into  his  own  grave.  We  often  talk  of  old 
misers.  There  are  but  few  old  misers.  The  most  of  them 
are  comparatively  young.  Avarice  massacres  more  than  a 
war.  In  contrast,  behold  the  philanthropist  in  the  nineties, 
and  dying  of  a  cold  caught  in  going  to  look  after  the  affairs 
of  the  institution  he  himself  founded,  and  which  has  now 
about  two  thousand  five  hundred  persons  a  day  in  its  read- 
ing-rooms and  libraries,  and  two  thousand  students  in  its 
evening  schools. 

Again,  Peter  Cooper  has  shown  the  world  a  good  way  of 
settling  the  old  quarrel  between  capital  and  labor,  the  alter- 
cation between  rich  and  poor.  There  are  two  ways  in  which 
this  conflict  can  never  be  settled.  One  is  the  violent  sup- 
pression of  the  laboring  classes,  and  the  other  the  violent 
assault  of  the  rich.  This  is  getting  to  be  the  age  of  dyna- 
mite— dynamite  under  the  Kremlin,  dynamite  in  proximity 
to  Parliament  House  and  railroad  track,  dynamite  near 
lordly  mansions,  dynamite  in  Ireland,  dynamite  in  England, 
dynamite  in  America.  The  rich  are  becoming  more  exclu- 
sive, and  the  poor  more  irate.  I  prescribe  for  the  cure  of 
this  mighty  evil  of  the  world  a  large  allopathic  dose  of 
Peter  Cooperism.  You  never  heard  of  dynamite  in  Cooper 
Institute.  You  never  heard  of  any  one  searching  the  cellar 
of  that  man's  house  for  a  keg  of  dynamite.  At  times 
of  public  excitement,  when  prominent  men  had  their  houses 
guarded,  there  were  no  sentinels  needed  at  his  door.  The 
poorest  man  with  a  hod  on  his  shoulder  carrying  brick  up  a 
wall  begrudged  not  the  philanthropist  his  carriage  as  he 
rode  by.  No  one  put  the  torch  to  Peter  Cooper's  glue  fac- 
tory. When  on  some  great  popular  occasion  the  masses  as- 
sembled in  the  hall  of  Cooper  Institute  and  its  founder 
came  on  the  platform,  there  were  many  hard  hands  that 
clapped  in  vigorous  applause.  Let  the  rich  stretch  forth 


356  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

toward  the  great  masses  of  England,  Ireland,  and  America 
as  generous  and  kind  a  hand  as  that  of  Peter  Cooper,  and 
the  age  of  dynamite  will  end.  What  police  can  not  do,  and 
shot  and  shell  can  not  do,  and  strongest  laws  severely  exe- 
cuted can  not  do,  and  armies  can  not  do,  will  yet  be 
accomplished  by  something  that  I  see  fit  to  baptize  as 
Peter  Cooperism.  I  hail  the  early  twilight  of  that  day 
when  a  man  of  millions  shall  come  forth  and  say :  "  There 
are  seventy  thousand  destitute  children  in  New  York,  and 
here  I  put  up  and  endow  out  of  my  fortune  a  whole  line  of 
institutions  to  take  care  of  them ;  here  are  vast  multitudes 
in  filthy  and  unventilated  tenement-houses,  for  whom  I  will 
build  a  whole  block  of  residences  at  cheap  rents;  here  are 
nations  without  Christ,  and  I  turn  my  fortune  inside  out  to 
send  them  flaming  evangels ;  there  shall  be  no  more  hunger, 
and  no  more  sickness,  and  no  more  ignorance,  and  no  more 
crime,  if  I  can  help  it."  That  spirit  among  the  opulent  of 
this  country  and  other  countries  would  stop  contention,  and 
the  last  incendiary's  torch  would  be  extinguished,  and  the 
last  dagger  of  assassination  would  go  to  slicing  bread  for 
poor  children,  and  the  last  pound  of  dynamite  that  threatens 
death  would  go  to  work  in  quarries  to  blast  foundation- 
stones  for  asylums  and  universities  and  churches.  May  the 
spirit  of  Peter  Cooper  and  Wm.  E.  Dodge  come  down  on 
all  the  bank  stock  and  government  securities  and  railroad 
companies  and  great  business  houses  of  America ! 

Again,  this  Barzillai  of  the  nineteenth  century  shows 
us  a  more  sensible  way  of  monumental  and  epitaphal  com- 
memoration. It  is  natural  to  want  to  be  remembered.  It 
would  not  be  a  pleasant  thought  to  us  or  to  any  one  to  feel 
that  the  moment  you  are  out  of  the  world  you  would  be  for- 
gotten. If  the  executors  of  Peter  Cooper  should  build  on 
his  grave  a  monument  that  would  cost  $20,000,000,  it 


PETER  COOPER.  357 

would  not  so  well  commemorate  him  as  that  monument  at 
.the  junction  of  Third  and  Fourth  Avenues,  New  York. 
How  few  people  would  pass  along  the  silent  sepulcher  as 
compared  with  those  great  numbers  that  will  ebb  and  flow 
around  Cooper  Institute  in  the  ages  to  come !  Of  the  tens 
of  thousands  to  be  educated  there,  will  there  be  one  so 
stupid  as  not  to  know  who  built  it,  and  what  a  great  heart 
he  had,  and  how  he  struggled  to  achieve  a  fortune,  but  al- 
ways mastered  that  fortune,  and  never  allowed  the  fortune  to 
master  him?  What  is  a  monument  of  Aberdeen  granite 
beside  a  monument  of  intellect  and  souls?  What  is  an 
epitaph  of  a  few  words  cut  by  a  sculptor's  chisel  beside  the 
epitaph  of  coming  generations  and  hundreds  writing  his 
praise?  Beautiful  and  adorned  beyond  all  the  crypts  and 
catacombs  and  shrines  of  the  dead!  But  the  superfluous 
and  inexcusable  expense  of  catafalque  and  sarcophagus  and 
tumulus  and  necropolis  the  world  over,  put  into  practical 
help,  would  have  sent  intelligence  into  every  dark  mind  and 
provided  a  home  for  every  wanderer.  The  pyramids  of 
Egypt,  elevated  at  vast  expense,  were  the  tombs  of  kings — 
their  names  now  obliterated.  But  the  monuments  of  good 
last  forever.  After  "  Old  Mortality "  has  worn  out  his 
chisel  in  reviving  the  epitaphs  on  old  tombstones,  the  names 
of  those  who  have  helped  others  will  be  held  in  everlasting 
remembrance.  The  fires  of  the  Judgment  Day  will  not 
crumble  off  one  of  the  letters.  The  Sabbath-school  teacher 
builds  her  monument  in  the  heavenly  thrones  of  her  con- 
verted scholars.  Geo.  Miiller's  monument  is  the  orphan- 
houses  of  England.  Handel's  monument  was  his  "  Halle- 
lujah Chorus."  Peabody's  monument,  the  library  of  his  na- 
tive village  and  the  schools  for  educating  the  blacks  in  the 
South.  They  who  give  or  pray  for  a  church  have  their 
monument  in  all  that  sacred  edifice  ever  accomplishes. 


358  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

John  Jay  had  his  monument  in  free  America.  Wilberforce 
his  monument  in  the  piled  up  chains  of  a  demolished  slave 
trade.  Livingstone  shall  have  his  monument  in  regenerated 
Africa.  Peter  Cooper  has  his  monument  in  all  the  philanthro- 
pies which  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  he  encouraged 
by  his  one  great  practical  effort  for  the  education  of  the 
common  people.  That  is  a  fame  worth  having.  That  is  a 
style  of  immortality  for  which  any  one  without  degradation 
may  be  ambitious.  Fill  all  our  cities  with  such  monuments 
till  the  last  cripple  has  his  limb  straightened,  and  the  last 
inebriate  learns  the  luxury  of  cold  water,  and  the  last  out- 
cast comes  home  to  his  God,  and  the  last  abomination  is 
extirpated,  and  "  Paradise  Lost "  has  become  "  Paradise 
Regained." 

But  notice,  also,  that  the  longest  life-path  has  a  terminus. 
What  a  gauntlet  to  run — the  accidents,  the  epidemics,  the 
ailments  of  ninety-two  years!  It  seemed  as  if  this  man 
would  live  on  forever.  His  life  reached  from  the  adminis- 
tration of  George  Washington  to  that  of  President  Arthur. 
But  the  liberal  hand  is  closed,  and  the  beaming  eye  is  shut, 
and  the  world-encompassing  heart  is  still.  When  he  was 
at  my  house,  I  felt  I  was  entertaining  a  king.  But  the  king 
is  dead,  and  we  learn  that  the  largest  volume  of  life  has  its 
last  chapter,  its  last  paragraph,  and  its  last  word.  What 
are  ninety-two  years  compared  with  the 'years  that  open 
the  first  page  of  the  future?  For  that  let  us  be  ready. 
Christ  came  to  reconstruct  us  for  usefulness,  happiness,  and 
heaven. 

I  know  not  the  minutiae  of  Peter  Cooper's  religious  opinions. 
Some  men  are  worse  than  their  creed,  and  some  are  better. 
The  grandest  profession  of  Jesus  Christ  is  a  life  devoted  to 
the  world's  elevation  and  betterment.  A  man  may  have  a 
membership  in  all  the  orthodox  Churches  in  Christendoin, 


PETER  COOPER.  359 

and  yet,  if  he  be  mean  and  selfish  and  careless  about  the 
world's  condition,  he  is  no  Christian ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  he  may  have  many  peculiarities  of  belief, 
if  he  live  for  others  more  than  for  himself,  he  is  Christ- 
like,  and,  I  think,  he  must  be  a  Christian.  But  let  us 
remember  that  the  greatest  philanthropist  of  the  ages  was 
Jesus  Christ,  and  the  greatest  charity  ever  known  was  that 
which  gave  not  its  dollars,  but  its  blood,  for  the  purchase 
of  the  world's  deliverance.  Standing  in  the  shadow  of 
Peter  Cooper's  death,  I  pray  God  that  all  the  resources  of 
America  may  be  consecrated.  We  are  coming  on  to  times 
of  prosperity  that  this  country  never  imagined.  Perhaps 
here  and  there  a  few  years  of  recoil  or  set-back,  but  God 
only  can  estimate  the  wealth  that  is  about  to  roll  into  the 
lap  of  this  nation.  Between  five  years  ago,  when  I  visited 
the  South,  and  my  recent  visit,  there  has  been  a  change  for 
the  better  that  amounts  to  a  resurrection.  The  Chatta- 
hoochee  is  about  to  rival  the  Merrimac  in  manufactures, 
and  the  whole  South  is  being  filled  with  the  dash  of  water- 
wheels  and  the  rattle  of  spindles.  Atlanta  has  already 
$6,000,000  invested  in  manufactures.  The  South  has  gone 
out  of  politics  into  business.  The  West,  from  its  inex- 
haustible mines,  is  going  to  disgorge  silver  and  gold,  and 
pour  the  treasure  all  over  the  nation.  May  God  sanctify 
the  coming  prosperity  of  the  people.  The  needs  are  as  aw- 
ful as  the  opulence  is  to  be  tremendous.  In  1880  there 
were  5,000,000  people  over  ten  years  of  age  in  the  United 
States  that  could  not  read,  and  over  6,000,000  who  could 
not  write,  and  nearly  2,000,000  of  the  voters.  We  want 
5,000  Cooper  Institutes  and  churches  innumerable,  and  just 
one  spiritual  awakening,  but  that  reaching  from  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  Key  West,  and  from  Barnegat  Light-house  to 
the  Golden  Gate.  We  can  all  somewhere  be  felt  in  the 


SCO  BRA  YE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

undertaking.     I  like  the  sentiment  and  the  rhythm  of  some 
anonymous  poet,  who  wrote: 

".When  I  am  dead  and  gone, 

And  the  mold  upon  niy  breast, 
Say  not  that  he  did  well  or  ill, 
Only 'He  did  his  best.'" 

— DR.  TALMAGE. 


GOODNESS. 

Goodness  needs  no  lure : 
All  compensations  are  in  her  enshrined, 
Whatever  things  are  right  and  fair  and  pure, 

Wealth  of  the  heart  and  mind. 

Failure  and  Success, 
The  Day  and  Night  of  every  life  below, 
Are  but  the  servants  of  her  blessedness, 

That  come  and  spend  and  go. 

Life  is  her  reward, 

A  life  brim-full,  in  every  day's  employ, 
Of  sunshine,  inspiration,  every  word 

And  syllable  of  joy. 

Heaven  to  thee  is  known, 
If  Goodness  in  the  robes  of  common  earth 
Becomes  a  presence  thou  canst  call  thine  own, 

To  warm  thy  heart  and  hearth. 

Clothed  in  flesh  and  blood, 
She  flits  about  me  every  blessed  day, 
The  incarnation  of  sweet  womanhood ; 

And  age  brings  no  decay. 


XXXIX. 


'Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,  and  what  the  world  calls  illusions."— 

LONGFELLOW. 


'HIS  curious  sentence  of  Longfellow's  deserves 
reading  again.  He  is.  an  earnest  man,  and  does 
not  mean  to  cheat  us ;  he  has  done  good  work  in 
the  world  by  his  poems  and  writings;  he  has 
backed  up  many,  and  lifted  the  hearts  of  many,  by  pure 
thought;  he  means  what  he  says.  Yet,  what  is  altogether 
lighter  than  vanity?  The  human  heart,  answers  the  reli- 
gionist. What  is  altogether  deceitful  upon  the  scales?  The 
human  heart.  What  is  a  Vanity  Fair,  a  mob,  a  hubbub  and 
babel  of  noises,  to  be  avoided,  shunned,  hated  ?  The  world. 
And,  lastly,  what  are  our  thoughts  and  struggles,  vain  ideas, 
and  wishes?  Vain,  empty  illusions,  shadows,  and  lies. 
And  yet  this  man,  with  the  inspiration  which  God  gives  every 
true  poet,  tells  us  to  trust  to  our  hearts,  and  what  the  world 
calls  illusions.  And  he  is  right. 

Now  there  are,  of  course,  various  sorts  of  illusions.  The 
world  is  itself  illusive.  None  of  us  are  exactly  what  we 
seem ;  and  many  of  those  things  that  we  have  the  firmest 
faith  in  really  do  not  exist.  When  the  first  philosopher  de- 
clared that  the  world  was  round,  and  not  a  plane  as  flat  and 
circular  as  a  dinner-plate  or  a  halfpenny,  people  laughed  at 
him,  and  would  have  shut  him  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  They 
said  he  had  an  "  illusion ;"  but  it  was  they  who  had  it.  He 
was  so  bold  as  to  start  the  idea  that  we  had  people  under  us, 
and  that  the  sun  went  to  light  them,  and  that  they  walked 
with  their  feet  to  our  feet.  So  they  do,  we  know  well  now ; 

361 


362  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

but  the  pope  and  cardinals  would  not  have  it,  and  so  they 
met  in  solemn  conclave,  and  ordered  the  philosopher's  book 
to  be  burnt,  and  they  would  have  burnt  him,  too,  in  their 
hardly  logical  way  of  saving  souls,  only  he  recanted,  and, 
sorely  against  his  will,  said  that  it  was  all  an  "  illusion." 
But  the  pope  and  his  advisers  had  an  illusion,  too,  which 
was,  that  dressing  up  men  who  did  not  believe  in  their  faith, 
in  garments  on  which  flames  and  devils  were  represented — 
such  a  garment  they  called  a  san  benito — and  then  burning 
them,  was  really  something  done  for  the  glory  of  God.  They 
called  it  with  admirable  satire  an  auto  da  fe  (an  "act  of 
faith  "),  and  they  really  did  believe — for  many  of  the  inquisi- 
tors were  mistaken  but  tender  men — that  they  did  good  by 
this ;  but  surely  now  they  have  outgrown  this  illusion.  How 
many  of  these  have  we  yet  to  outgrow;  how  far  are  we  off 
the  true  and  liberal  Christianity  which  is  the  ideal  of  the 
saint  and  sage;  how  ready  are  we  still  to  persecute  those 
who  happen,  by  mere  circumstances  attending  their  birth 
and  education,  to  differ  from  us! 

The  inner  world  of  man,  no  less  than  the  external 
world,  is  full  of  illusions.  They  arise  from  distorted  vision, 
from  a  disorder  of  the  senses,  or  from  an  error  of  judgment 
upon  data  correctly  derived  from  their  evidence.  Under  the 
influence  of  a  predominant  train  of  thought,  an  absorbing 
emotion,  a  person  ready  charged  with  an  uncontrolled  imag- 
ination will  see,  as  Shakspeare  has  it — 

"  More  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold." 

Half,  if  not  all,  of  the  ghost  stories,  which  are  equally  dan- 
gerous and  absorbing  to  youth,  arise  from  illusion — there 
they  have  their  foundation ;  but  believers  in  them  obstinately 
refuse  to  believe  anything  but  that  which  their  overcharged 
and  predisposed  imagination  leads  them  to.  Some  of  us 


ILLUSIONS.  363 

walk  about  this  world  of  ours — as  if  it  were  not  of  itself 
full  enough  of  mystery — as  ready  to  swallow  any  thing 
wonderful  or  horrible,  as  the  country  clown  whom  a  con- 
jurer will  get  upon  his  stage  to  play  tricks  with.  Fooled 
by  a  redundant  imagination,  delighted  to  be  tricked  by  her 
potency,  we  dream  away,  flattered  by  the  idea  that  a  super- 
natural messenger  is  sent  to  us,  and  to  us  alone.  "We  all 
have  our  family  ghosts,  in  whom  we  more  than  half  believe. 
Each  one  of  us  has  a  mother  or  a  wise  aunt,  or  some  female 
relation,  who,  at  one  period  of  her  life,  had  a  dream,  difficult 
to  be  interpreted,  and  foreboding  good  or  evil  to  a  child  of 
the  house. 

^Ye  are  so  grand,  we  men,  "  noble  animals,  great  in  our 
deaths  and  splendid  even  in  our  ashes,"  that  we  can  not 
yield  to  a  common  fate  without  some  overstrained  and  bom- 
bast conceit  that  the  elements  themselves  give  warning. 
Casca,  in  "  Julius  Caesar,"  rehearses  some  few  of  the  pro- 
digies which  predicted  Csesar's  death: 

"  A  common  slave  (you  know  him  well  by  sight) 
Held  up  his  left  hand,  which  did  flame,  and  burn 
Like  twenty  torches  join'd ;  and  yet  his  hand, 
Not  sensible  of  fire,  remained  unscorehed.    .    .    . 
And,  yesterday,  the  bird  of  night  did  sit, 
Even  at  noon-day,  upon  the  market-place, 
Hooting  and  shrieking.     "When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say, 
'  These  are  their  reasons — they  are  natural; 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things." 

A  great  many  others  besides  our  good  Casca  believe  in 
these  portents  and  signs,  and  their  dignity  would  be  much 
hurt  if  they  were  persuaded  that  the  world  would  go  on 
just  the  same  if  they  and  their  family  were  utterly  extinct, 
and  that  no  eclipse  would  happen  to  portend  that  calamity. 
In  Ireland.,  in  certain  great  families,  a  Banshee,  or  a  Ben- 


364  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

shee,  for  they  differ  who  spell  it,  sits  and  wails  all  night 
when  the  head  of  the  family  is  about  to  stretch  his  feet 
towards  the  dim  portals  of  the  dead ;  and  in  England  are 
many  families  who,  by  some  unknown  means,  retain  a  ghost 
which  walks  up  and  down  a  terrace,  as  it  did  in  that  fanci- 
ful habitation  of  Sir  Leicester  Dedlock.  In  Scotland,  they 
have  amongst  them  prophetic  shepherds,  who,  on  the  cold, 
misty  mountain  top,  at  eventide,  shade  their  shaggy  eye- 
brows with  their  hands,  and,  peering  into  the  twilight,  see 
funerals  pass  by,  and  the  decease  of  some  neighbor  por- 
tended by  all  the  paraphernalia  of  death. 

With  us  all  these  portents  "  live  no  longer  in  the  faith 
of  Reason ;"  we  assert,  in  Casca's  words,  that  "  they  are 
natural ;"  but  we  offend  the  credulous  when  we  do  so. 
"  Illusions  of  the  senses,"  says  an  acute  writer,  "  are  com- 
mon in  our  appreciation  of  form,  distance,  color,  and  motion; 
and  also  from  a  lack  of  comprehension  of  the  physical  powers 
of  Nature,  in  the  production  of  images  of  distinct  objects. 
A  stick  in  the  water  appears  bent  or  broken;  the  square 
tower  at  the  distance  looks  round ;  distant  objects  appear  to 
move  when  we  are  in  motion ;  the  heavenly  bodies  appear 
to  revolve  round  the  earth."  And  yet  we  know  that  all 
these  appearances  are  mere  illusions.  At  the  top  of  a 
mountain  in  Ireland,  with  our  back  to  the  sun,  we,  two 
travelers,  were  looking  at  the  smiling  landscape  gilded  by 
the  sunshine;  suddenly  a  white  cloud  descended  between 
us  and  the  valley,  and  there  upon  it  were  our  two  shadows, 
distorted,  gigantic,  threatening  or  supplicatory,  as  we  chose 
to  move  and  make  them.  Here  was  an  exactly  similar  ap- 
parition to  the  Specter  of  the  Brocken.  The  untaught 
German  taxed  his  wits*  to  make  the  thing  a  ghost ;  but  the 
philosopher  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  it,  and  the  shadow 
returned  the  salute ;  and  so  with  the  Fata  Morgana,  and  the 


ILLUSIONS.  365 

mirage.  We  now  know  that  these  things  had  no  super- 
natural origin,  but  are  simply  due  to  the  ordinary  laws  of 
atmospheric  influence  and  light;  so  all  our  modern  illusions 
are  easily  rectified  by  the  judgment,  and  are  fleeting  and 
transitory  in  the  minds  of  the  sane. 

But,  beyond  these,  there  are  the  illusions  of  which  we 
first  spoke,  from  which  we  would  not  willingly  be  awakened. 
The  sick  man  in  Horace,  who  fancied  that  he  was  always 
sitting  at  a  play,  and  laughed  and  joked,  or  was  amazed 
and  wept  as  they  do  in  a  theater,  rightly  complained  to 
his  friends  that  they  had  killed  him,  not  cured  him,  when 
they  roused  him  from  his  state  of  hallucination.  There  are 
some  illusions  so  beautiful,  so  healthful,  and  so  pleasant, 
that  we  would  that  no  harshness  of  this  world's  ways,  no 
bitter  experience,  no  sad  reality,  could  awaken  us  from  them. 
It  is  these,  we  fancy,  that  the  poet  tells  us  to  trust  to;  such 
are  the  illusions — so-called  by  the  world — to  which  we  are 
always  to  give  our  faith.  It  will  be  well  if  we  do  so.  Faith 
in  man  or  woman  is  a  comfortable  creed;  but  you  will 
scarcely  find  a  man  of  thirty,  or  a  woman  either,  who  re- 
tains it.  They  will  tell  you  bitterly  "  they  have  been  so 
deceived !"  One  old  gentleman  we  know,  deceived,  and 
ever  again  to  be  deceived,  who  is  a  prey  to  false  friends, 
who  lends  his  money  without  surety  and  gets  robbed,  who 
fell  in  love  and  was  jilted,  who  has  done  much  good  and 
has  been  repaid  with  much  evil.  This  man  is  much  to  be 
envied.  He  can,  indeed,  "  trust  in  his  heart  and  what  the 
world  calls  illusions."  To  him  the  earth  is  yet  green  and 
fresh,  the  world  smiling  and  good-humored,  friends  are  fast 
and  loving,  woman  a  very  well-spring  of  innocent  and  un- 
bought  love.  The  world  thinks  him  an  old  simpleton ;  but 
he  is  wiser  than  the  world.  He  is  not  to  be  scared  by  sad 
proverbs,  nor  frightened  by  dark  sayings.  An  enviable 


366  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

man,  he  sits,  in  the  evening  of  life,  loving  and  trusting  his 
fellow-men,  and,  from  the  mere  freshness  of  his  character, 
having  many  gathered  round  him  whom  he  can  still  love 
and  trust. 

With  another  sort  of  philosophers  all  around  is  mere  il- 
lusion, and  the  mind  of  man  shall  in  no  way  be  separated 
from  it;  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  it  is  all  the  same. 
Our  organization,  they  Avould  have  us  believe,  creates  most 
of  our  pleasure  and  our  pain.  Life  is  in  itself  an  ecstasy. 
"Life  is  as  sweet  as  nitrous  oxide;  and  the  fisherman,  drip- 
ping all  day  over  a  cold  pond,  the  switchman  at  the  railway 
intersection,  the  farmer  in  the  field,  the  negro  in  the  rice- 
swamp,  the  fop  in  the  street,  the  hunter  in  the  woods,  the 
barrister  with  the  jury,  the  belle  at  the  ball — all  ascribe  a 
certain  pleasure  to  their  employment  which  they  themselves 
give  to  it.  Health  and  appetite  impart  the  sweetness  to 
sugar,  bread,  and  meat."  So  fancy  plays  with  us;  but, 
while  she  tricks  us,  she  blesses  us.  The  mere  prosaic  man, 
who  strips  the  tinsel  from  every  thing,  who  sneers  at  a 
bridal  and  gladdens  at  a  funeral ;  who  tests  every  coin  and 
every  pleasure,  and  tells  you  that  it  has  not  the  true  ring; 
who  checks  capering  Fancy  and  stops  her  caracoling  by  the 
whip  of  reality,  is  not  to  be  envied.  "  In  the  life  of  the 
dreariest  alderman,  Fancy  enters  into  all  details,  and  colors 
them  with  a  rosy  hue/'  says  Emerson.  "  He  imitates  the 
air  and  action  of  people  whom  he  admires,  and  is  raised  in 
his  own  eyes.  ...  In  London,  in  Paris,  in  Boston,  in 
San  Francisco,  the  masquerade  is  at  its  height.  Nobody 
drops  his  domino.  The  chapter  of  fascinations  is  very 
long.  Great  is  paint ;  nay,  God  is  the  painter ;  and  we 
rightly  accuse  the  critic  who  destroys  too  many  illusions." 

Happy  are  they  with  whom  this  domino  is  never  com- 
pletely dropped!  Happy,  thrice  happy,  they  who  believe, 


ILLUSIONS.  367 

and  still  maintain  that  belief,  like  champion  knights,  against 
all  comers,  in  honor,  chastity,  friendship,  goodness,  virtue, 
gratitude.  It  is  a  long  odds  that  the  men  who  do  not  be- 
lieve in  these  virtues  have  none  themselves ;  for  we  speak 
from  our  hearts,  and  we  tell  of  others  that  which  we  think 
of  ourselves.  The  French,  a  mournful,  sad,  and  unhappy 
nation — even  at  the  bottom  of  all  their  external  gaiety — 
have  a  sad  word,  a  participle,  desillusionn6,  disillusioned ; 
and  by  it  they  mean  one  who  has  worn  out  all  his  youtful 
ideas,  who  has  been  behind  the  scenes,  and  has  seen  the  bare 
walls  of  the  theater,  without  the  light  and  paint,  and  has 
watched  the  ugly  actors  and  gaunt  actresses  by  daylight. 
The  taste  of  life  is  very  bitter  in  the  mouth  of  such  a  man ; 
his  joys  are  Dead  Sea  apples — dust  and  ashes  in  the  mouths 
of  those  who  bite  them.  No  flowers  spring  up  about  his 
path ;  he  is  very  melancholy  and  suspicious,  very  hard  and 
incredulous ;  he  has  faith  neither  in  the  honesty  of  man  nor 
in  the  purity  of  woman.  He  is  desillusionne — by  far  too  wise 
to  be  taken  in  with  painted  toys.  Every  one  acts  with 
self-interest!  His  doctor,  his  friend,  or  his  valet  will  be  sorry 
for  his  death  merely  from  the  amount  of  money  interest 
that  they  have  in  his  life.  Bare  and  grim  unto  tears,  even 
if  he  had  any,  is  the  life  of  such  a  man.  With  him,  sadder 
than  Lethe  or  the  Styx,  the  river  of  time  runs  between 
stony  banks,  and,  often  a  calm  suicide,  it  bears  him  to  the 
Morgue.  Happier  by  far  is  he  who,  with  whitened  hair  and 
wrinkled  brow,  sits  crowned  with  the  flowers  of  illusion; 
and  who,  with  the  ear  of  age,  still  remains  a  charmed  lis- 
tener to  the  songs  which  pleased  his  youth,  trusting  "his 
heart  and  what  the  world  calls  illusions." 


XL. 


AT  HOME. 

HILLIPS  BROOKS  at  home,  of  course,  means 
Phillips  Brooks  in  Trinity  Church,  Boston. 
Other  than  his  church,  home  proper  he  has  none, 
for  he  abides  a  bachelor. 
And  somehow  it  seems  almost  fit  that  a  man  like  Mr. 
Brooks,  a  man  so  ample,  so  overflowing  ;  a  man,  as  it  were, 
more  than  sufficient  to  himself,  sufficient  also  to  a  multitude 
of  others,  should  have  his  home  large  and  public;  such  a 
home,  in  fact,  as  Trinity  Church.  Here  Phillips  Brooks 
shines  like  a  sun  —  diffusing  warmth  and  light  and  life. 
What  a  blessing  to  what  a  number!  To  what  a  number  of 
souls,  it  would  have  been  natural  to  say  ;  but,  almost  as 
natural,  to  what  a  number  of  bodies!  For  the  physical 
man  is  a  source  of  comfort,  in  its  kind,  hardly  less  so  than 
the  intellectual  and  the  spiritual.  How  that  massive,  ma- 
jestic manhood  makes  temperature  where  it  is,  and  what 
temperature  !  Broad,  equable,  temperate,  calm  ;  yet  tonic, 
withal,  and  inspiring.  You  rejoice  in  it.  You  have  an  ir- 
rational feeling  that  it  would  be  a  wrong  to  shut  up  so 
much  opulence  of  personal  vitality  in  any  home  less  wide 
and  open  than  a  great  basilica  like  Trinity  Church.  At 
least,  you  are  not  pained  with  sympathy  for  homelessness  in 
the  case  of  a  man  so  richly  endowed.  To  be  so  pained 
would  be  like  shivering  on  behalf  of  the  sun,  because,  for- 
sooth, the  sun  had  nothing  to  make  him  warm  and  bright. 
Phillips  Brooks  in  Trinity  Church  is  like  the  sun  in  its 
368 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  369 

sphere.  Still,  and  were  it  not  impertinent,  I  could  even 
wish  for  Phillips  Brooks  an  every-day  home,  such  as  would 
be  worthy  of  him.  What  a  home  it  should  be !  And 
with  thus  much  of  loyal,  if  of  doubtfully  appropriate  trib- 
ute, irresistibly  prompted,  and  therefore  not  to  be  repressed, 
let  me  go  on  to  speak  of  Phillips  Brooks  as  he  is  to  be 
seen  and  heard  Sunday  after  Sunday  at  home  in  Trinity 
Church. 

Every  body  knows  how  magnificent  an  edifice,  with  its 
arrested  tower  yet  waiting  and  probably  long  to  wait  com- 
pletion, Trinity  Church  is.  The  interior  is  decorated  almost 
to  the  point  of  gorgeousness.  The  effect,  however,  is  im- 
posing for  "  the  height,  the  glow,  the  glory."  Good  taste 
reigning  over  lavish  expenditure  has  prevented  chromatic 
richness  from  seeming  to  approach  tawdriness.  It  is  much 
to  say  for  any  man  preaching  here  that  the  building  does 
not  make  him  look  disproportionate,  inadequate.  This  may 
strongly  be  said  for  Phillips  Brooks.  But  even  for  him  it 
can  not  be  said  that  the  form  and  construction  of  the  inte- 
rior do  not  oppose  a  serious  embarrassment  to  the  proper 
effect  of  oratory.  I  could  not  help  feeling  it  to  be  a  great 
wrong  to  the  truth,  or,  to  put  it  personally,  a  great  wrong  to 
the  preacher  and  to  his  hearers,  that  an  audience-room 
should  be  so  broken  up  with  pillars,  angles,  recesses,  so 
sown  with  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  as  necessarily,  inev- 
itably, to  disperse  and  waste  an  immense  fraction  of  the 
power  exerted  by  the  preacher,  whatever  the  measure,  great 
or  small,  of  that  power  might  be.  The  reaction  of  this 
audience-room  upon  the  oratorical  instinct  and  habit  of  the 
man  who  should  customarily  speak  in  it  could  not  but  be 
mischievous  in  a  very  high  degree.  The  sense,  which  ought 
to  live  in  every  public  speaker,  of  his  being  fast  bound  in  a 
grapple  of  mind  to  mind,  and  heart  to  heart,  and  soul  to 

24 


370  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

soul,  with  his  audience,  must  be  oppressed,  if  not  extin- 
guished, amid  such  architectural  conditions  as  those  which 
surround  Phillips  Brooks  when  he  stands  to  preach.  That 
in  him  this  needful  sense  is  not  extinguished  is  a  thing  to  be 
thankful  for.  That  it  is,  in  fact,  oppressed,  I  can  not  doubt. 
There  is  evidence  of  it,  I  think,  in  his  manner  of  preaching. 
For  Mr.  Brooks  is  not  an  orator  such  as  Mr.  Beecher  is. 
He  does  not  speak  to  people  with  people,  as  Mr.  Beecher 
does;  rather  he  speaks  before  them,  in  their  presence.  He 
soliloquizes.  There  is  almost  a  minimum  of  mutual  relation 
between  speaker  and  hearer.  Undoubtedly  the  swift,  urgent 
monologue  is  quickened,  reinforced,  by  the  consciousness  of 
an  audience  present.  That  consciousness,  of  course,  pene- 
trates to  the  mind  of  the  speaker.  But  it  does  not  domi- 
nate the  speaker's  mind;  it  does  not  turn  monologue  into 
dialogue;  the  speech  is  monologue  still. 

This  is  not  invariably  the  case;  for,  occasionally,  the 
preacher  turns  his  noble  face  toward  you,  and  for  that  in- 
stant you  feel  the  aim  of  his  discourse  leveled  full  at  your 
personality.  Now  there  is  a  glimpse  of  true  oratorical  power. 
But  the  glimpse  passes  quickly.  The  countenance  is  again 
directed  forward  toward  a  horizon,  or  even  lifted  toward  a 
quarter  of  the  sky  above  the  horizon,  and  the  but  momenta- 
rily interrupted  rapt  soliloquy  proceeds. 

Such  I  understand  to  have  been  the  style  of  Robert  Hall's 
pulpit  speech.  It  is  a  rare  gift  to  be  a  speaker  of  this  sort. 
The  speaker  must  be  a  thinker  as  well  as  a  speaker.  The 
speech  is,  in  truth,  a  process  of  thinking  aloud — thinking  ac- 
celerated, exhilarated,  by  the  vocal  exercise  accompanying, 
and  then,  too,  by  the  blindfold  sense  of  a  listening  audience 
near.  This  is  the  preaching  of  Mr.  Brooks. 

It  is,  perhaps,  not  generally  known  that  Mr.  Brooks  prac- 
tices two  distinct  methods  of  preaching :  one,  that  with  the 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  371 

manuscript ;  the  other,  that  without.  The  last  time  that  I 
had  the  chance  of  a  Sunday  in  Trinity  Church  was  Luther's 
day.  The  morning  discourse  was  a  luminous  and  generous 
appreciation  of  the  great  reformer's  character  and  work. 
This  was  read  in  that  rapid,  vehement,  incessant  manner  which 
description  has  made  sufficiently  familiar  to  the  public.  The 
precipitation  of  utterance  is  like  the  flowing  forth  of  the 
liquid  contents  of  a  bottle  suddenly  inverted;  every  word 
seems  hurrying  to  be  foremost.  The  unaccustomed  hearer 
is  at  first  left  hopelessly  in  the  rear ;  but  presently  the  con- 
tagion of  the  speaker's  rushing  thought  reaches  him,  and  he 
is  drawn  into  the  wake  of  that  urgent  ongoing;  he  is  towed 
along  in  the  great  multitudinous  convoy  that  follows  the 
mighty  motor-vessel,  steaming,  unconscious  of  the  weight  it 
bears,  across  the  sea  of  thought.  The  energy  is  sufficient  for 
all ;  it  overflows  so  amply  that  you  scarcely  feel  it  not  to  be 
your  own  energy.  The  writing  is  like  in  character  to  the 
speaking — continuous,  no  break,  no  shock,  no  rest,  not  much 
change  of  swifter  and  slower  till  the  end.  The  apparent 
mass  of  the  speaker,  physical  and  mental,  might  at  first  seem 
equal  to  making  up  a  full,  adequate  momentum  without  mul- 
tiplication by  such  a  component  of  velocity ;  but  by-and-by 
you  come  to  feel  that  the  motion  is  a  necessary  part  of  the 
power.  I  am  told,  indeed,  that  a  constitutional  tendency  to 
hesitation  in  utterance  is  the  speaker's  real  reason  for  this 
indulged  precipitancy  of  speech.  Not  unlikely ;  but  the  final 
result  of  habit  is  as  if  of  nature. 

Of  the  discourse  itself  on  Luther,  I  have  left  myself  room 
to  say  no  more  than  that  Mr.  Brooks's  master  formula  for 
power  in  the  preacher,  truth  plus  personality,  came  very  fitly 
in  to  explain  the  problem  of  Luther's  prodigious  career.  It 
was  the  man  himself,  not  less  than  the  truth  he  found,  that 


372  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

gave  Luther  such  possession  of  the  present  and  such  a  her- 
itage in  the  future. 

In  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Brooks  took  Luther's  "The  just 
shall  live  by  faith,"  and  preached  extemporarily.  The  char- 
acter of  the  composition  and  of  the  delivery  was  strikingly 
the  same  as  that  belonging  to  morning's  discourse.  It  was 
hurried,  impetuous  soliloquy ;  in  this  particular  case  hurried 
first,  and  then  impetuous.  That  is,  I  judged  from  .various 
little  indications  that  Mr.  Brooks  used  his  will  to  urge  him- 
self on  against  some  obstructiveness  felt  in  the  current  mood 
and  movement  of  his  mind.  But  it  was  a  noteworthy  dis- 
course, full  and  fresh  with  thought.  The  interpretation  put 
upon  Luther's  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith  was  free 
rather  than  historic.  If  one  should  apply  the  formula,  truth 
plus  personality,  the  personality — Mr.  Brooks's  personality — 
would  perhaps  be  found  to  prevail  in  the  interpretation  over 
the  strict  historic  truth. — W.  C.  WILKINSON  in  The  Chris- 
tian Union. 


Fear  not  I  there  is  hope  and  a  refuge 
And  life  shall. yet  be  thine." 


XLI. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CENTURY. 


is  a  beautiful  legend 
Come  down  from  ancient  time, 
^Of  John,  the  beloved  disciple, 
•        With  the  marks  of  his  life  sublime. 

Eusebius  has  the  story 

On  his  quaint,  suggestive  page  ; 

And  God  in  the  hearts  of  his  people 
Has  preserved  it  from  age  to  age. 

It  was  after  the  vision  in  Patmos, 

After  the  sanctified  love 
Which  flowed  to  the  Seven  Churches, 

Glowing  with  light  from  above : 

When  his  years  had  outrun  the  measure 

Allotted  to  men  at  the  best, 
And  Peter  and  James  and  the  others 

Had  followed  the  Master  to  rest, 

In  the  hope  of  the  resurrection, 

And  the  blessed  life  to  come 
In  the  house  of  many  mansions, 

The  Father's  eternal  home; 

It  was  in  this  golden  season, 
At  the  going  down  of  his  sun, 

When  his  work  in  the  mighty  harvest 
Of  the  Lord  was  almost  done ; 

373 


374  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

At  Ephesus  came  a  message, 
Where  he  was  still  at  his  post, 

Which  unto  the  aged  Apostle 
Was  the  voice  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Into  the  country  he  hastened 
With  all  the  ardor  of  youth, 

Shod  with  the  preparation 

Of  the  Gospel  of  peace  and  truth. 

His  mission  was  one  of  mercy 

To  the  sheep  that  were  scattered  abroad, 

And  abundant  consolation, 

Which  flowed  through  him  from  the  Lord. 

O,  would  my  heart  could  paint  him, 

The  venerable  man  of  God, 
So  lovingly  showing  and  treading 

The  way  the  Master  had  trod! 

O,  would  my  art  could  paint  him, 
Whose  life  was  a  fact  to  prove 

The  joy  of  the  Master's  story, 

And  fill  their  hearts  with  his  love ! 

At  length,  when  the  service  was  ended, 
His  eye  on  a  young  man  fell, 

Of  beautiful  form  and  feature, 
And  grace  we  love  so  well. 

At  once  he  turned  to  the  bishop, 
And  said  with  a  love  unpriced, 
"To  thee,  to  thee  I  commit  him 
Before  the  Church  and  Christ." 

He  then  returned  to  the  city, 

The  beloved  disciple,  John, 
Where  the  strong  unceasing  current 

Of  his  deathless  love  flowed  on. 


SAINT  JOHN  AND  THE  ROBBER.  375 

The  bishop  discharged  his  duty 

To  the  youth  so  graceful  and  fair ; 
With  restraining  hand  he  held  him, 

And  trained  him  with  loving  care. 

At  last,  when  his  preparation 

Was  made  for  the  holy  rite, 
He  was  cleansed  in  the  sanctified  water, 

And  pronounced  a  child  of  light. 

For  a  time  he  adorned  the  doctrine 
Which  Christ  in  the  Church  has  set. 

But,  alas!  for  a  passionate  nature 
When  Satan  has  spread  his  net! 

Through  comrades  base  and  abandoned 

He  was  lured  from  day  to  day, 
Until,  like  a  steed  unbridled, 

He  struck  from  the  rightful  way ; 

And  a  wild  consuming  passion 

Raised  him  unto  the  head 
Of  a  mighty  band  of  robbers, 

Of  all  the  country  the  dread. 

Time  passed.     Again  a  message 

Unto  the  Apostle  was  sent, 
To  set  their  affairs  in  order, 

And  tell  them  the  Lord's  intent. 

And  when  he  had  come  and  attended 

To  all  that  needed  his  care, 
He  turned  him  and  said,  "Come,  Bishop, 

Give  back  my  deposit  so  rare." 

"What  deposit?"  was  the  answer, 

Which  could  not  confusion  hide. 
"I  demand  the  soul  of  a  brother," 

Plainly  the  Apostle  replied, 


376  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

' '  Which  Christ  and  I  committed 
Before  the  Church  to  thee." 
Trembling  and  even  weeping, 
"The  young  man  is  dead,"  groaned  he. 

"How  dead?    What  death?"  John  demanded. 
"He  the  way  of  the  tempter  trod, 
Forgetting  the  Master's  weapon, 
And  now  he  is  dead  unto  God. 

Yonder  he  roves  a  robber." 
"A  fine  keeper,"  said  John,  "indeed, 
Of  a  brother's  soul.     Get  ready 
A  guide  and  a  saddled  steed." 

And  all  as  he  was  the  Apostle 

Into  the  region  rode 
Where  the  robber  youth  and  captain 

Had  fixed  his  strong  abode. 

When  hardly  over  the  border, 

He  a  prisoner  was  made, 
And  into  their  leader's  presence 

Demanded  to  be  conveyed. 

And  he  who  could  brave  a  thousand 

When  each  was  an  enemy, 
Beholding  John  approaching, 

Turned  him  in  shame  to  flee. 

But  John,  of  his  age  forgetful, 

Pursued  him  with  all  his  might. 
"  Why  from  thy  defenseless  father," 
He  cried,  "dost  thou  turn  in  flight? 

Fear  not ;  there  is  hope  and  a  refuge, 

And  life  shall  yet  be  thine. 
I  will  intercede  with  the  Master 

And  task  His  love  divine." 


SAINT  JOHN  AND  THE  ROBBER.  377 

Subdued  by  love  that  is  stronger 

Than  was  ever  an  armed  band, 
He  became  once  more  to  the  Father 

A  child  to  feel  for  His  hand. 

Subdued  by  a  love  that  is  stronger 
Than  a  world  full  of  terrors  and  fears, 

He  returned  to  the  House  of  the  Father 
Athrough  the  baptism  of  tears. 

Such  is  the  beautiful  legend 

Come  down  from  ancient  days, 
Of  love  that  is  young  forever ; 

And  is  he  not  blind  who  says 

That  charity  ever  faileth, 

Or  doth  for  a  moment  despair, 
Or  that  there  is  any  danger 

Too  great  for  her  to  dare; 

When  John,  the  beloved  disciple, 

With  the  faith  of  the  Gospel  shod, 
Went  forth  in  pursuit  of  the  robber, 

And  brought  him  back  to  God  ? 

O  Church,  whose  strength  is  the  doctrine 

Of  the  blessed  Evangelist, 
This  doctrine  of  love  undying 

Which  the  world  can  not  resist! 

Put  on  thy  beautiful  garments 

In  this  sordid  and  selfish  day, 
And  be  as  of  old  a  glory 

To  turn  us  from  Mammon  away ; 

Until  to  the  prayer  of  thy  children, 

The  sweetly  simple  prayer, 
That  bathed  in  the  light  of  Heaven 

Thy  courts  may  grow  more  fair, 


378  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

There  comes  the  eternal  answer 

Of  works  that  are  loving  and  grand, 

To  remain  for  the  generations 
The  praises  of  God  in  the  land. 

O  Church,  whose  strength  is  the  doctrine 
Of  the  blessed  Evangelist, 

The  doctrine  of  love  undying 
Which  the  world  can  not  resist! 

Go  forth  to  the  highways  and  hedges 
To  gather  the  sheep  that  are  lost, 

Conveying  the  joyful  tidings, 
Their  redemption  at  infinite  cost. 

Proclaim  there  is  hope  and  a  refuge 
For  every  wanderer  there ; 

For  every  sin  there  is  mercy — 
Yea,  even  the  sin  of  despair ! 

O,  then  will  thy  beautiful  garments, 
As  once  in  the  prime  of  thy  youth, 

Appear  in  celestial  splendor, 

Thou  pillar  and  ground  of  the  Truth! 


XLII. 


THE  PITH  AND  MARROW  OF  CERTAIN  OLD  PROVERBS. 


HE  Rev.  C.  H.  Spurgeon,  of  London,  who  has 
furnished  our  readers  with  several  specimens  of 
"John  Ploughman's  Talk,"    has    also    published 
"John  Ploughman's  Pictures,"  some  of  which  we 
present  in  pen  and  ink,  without  any  help  from  the  engraver. 
John  thus  introduces  himself: 

IF  THE  CAP  FITS,  WEAR  IT. 

FRIENDY  READERS:  Last  time  I  made  a  book  I  trod 
on  some  people's  corns  and  bunions,  and  they  wrote  me 
angry  letters,  asking,  "Did  you  mean  me?"  This  time,  to 
save  them  the  expense  of  a  halfpenny  card,  I  will  begin  my 
book  by  saying — 

Whether  I  please  or  whether  I  tease, 

I'll  give  you  my  honest  mind ; 
If  the  cap  should  fit,  pray  wear  it  a  bit ; 

If  not,  you  can  leave  it  behind. 

No  offense  is  meant;  but  if  any  thing  in  these  pages 
should  come  home  to  a  man,  let  him  not  send  it  next  door, 
but  get  a  coop  for  his  own  chickens.  What  is  the  use  of 
reading  or  hearing  for  other  people  ?  We  do  not  eat  and 
drink  for  them :  why  should  we  lend  them  our  ears  and  not 
our  mouths  ?  Please  then,  good  friend,  if  you  find  a  hoe  on 
these  premises,  weed  your  own  garden  with  it. 

I  was  speaking  with  Will  Shepherd  the  other  day  about 
our  master's  old  donkey,  and  I  said,  "He  is  so  old  and 

379 


380  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

stubborn,  he  really  is  not  worth  his  keep."  "No,"  said 
Will,  "  and  worse  still,  he  is  so  vicious  that  I  feel  sure  he'll 
do  somebody  a  mischief  one  of  these  days."  You  know 
they  say  that  walls  have  ears ;  we  were  talking  rather  loud, 
but  we  did  not  know  that  there  were  ears  to  haystacks.  We 
stared,  I  tell  you,  when  we  saw  Joe  Scroggs  come  from  be- 
hind the  stack,  looking  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock,  and  raving 
like  mad.  He  burst  out  swearing  at  Will  and  me,  like  a 
cat  spitting  at  a  dog.  His  monkey  was  up  and  no  mistake. 
He'd  let  us  know  that  he  was  as  good  a  man  as  either  of 
us,  or  the  two  put  together,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Talk 
about  him  in  that  way ;  he  'd  do — I  do  n't  know  what.  I 
told  old  Joe  we  had  never  thought  of  him  nor  said  a  word 
about  him,  and  he  might  just  as  well  save  his  breath  to  cool 
his  porridge,  for  nobody  meant  him  any  harm.  This  only 
made  him  call  me  a  liar  and  roar  the  louder.  My  friend 
Will  was  walking  away,  holding  his  sides ;  but  when  he  saw 
that  Scroggs  was  still  in  a  fume,  he  laughed  outright,  and 
turned  round  on  him  and  said,  "  Why,  Joe,  we  were  talking 
about  master's  old  donkey,  and  not  about  you ;  but,  upon  my 
word,  I  shall  never  see  that  donkey  again  without  thinking 
of  Joe  Scroggs."  Joe  puffed  and  blowed,  but  perhaps  he 
thought  it  an  awkward  job,  for  he  backed  out  of  it,  and 
Will  and  I  went  off  to  our  work  in  rather  a  merry  cue,  for 
old  Joe  had  blundered  on  the  truth  about  himself  for  once 
in  his  life. 

The  aforesaid  Will  Shepherd  has  sometimes  come  down 
rather  heavy  upon  me  in  his  remarks,  but  it  has  done  me 
good.  It  is  partly  through  his  home-thrusts  that  I  have 
come  to  write  this  new  book,  for  he  thought  I  was  idle; 
perhaps  I  am,  and  perhaps  I  am  not.  Will  forgets  that  I 
have  other  fish  to  fry  and  tails  to  butter;  and  he  does  not 
recollect  that  a  ploughman's  mind  wants  to  lie  fallow  a  little, 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN  AGAIN,  381 

and  can't  give  a  crop  every  year.  It  is  hard  to  make  rope 
when  your  hemp  is  all  used  up,  or  pancakes  without  batter, 
or  rook  pie  without  the  birds;  and  so  I  found  it  hard  to 
write  more  when  I  had  said  just  about  all  I  knew.  Giving 
much  to  the  poor  doth  increase  a  man's  store,  but  it  is  not 
the  same  with  writing;  at  least,  I  am  such  a  poor  scribe 
that  I  don't  find  it  come  because  I  pull.  If  your 
thoughts  only  flow  by  drops,  you  can't  pour  them  out  in 
bucketfuls. 

However,  Will  has  ferreted  me  out,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
him  so  far.  I  told  him  the  other  day  what  the  winkle  said 
to  the  pin :  "  Thank  you  for  drawing  me  out,  but  you  are 
rather  sharp  about  it."  Still,  Master  Will  is  not  far  from 
the  mark :  after  three  hundred  thousand  people  had  bought 
my  book  it  certainly  was  time  to  write  another.  So,  though 
I  am  not  a  hatter,  I  will  again  turn  capmaker,  and  those 
who  have  heads  may  try  on  my  wares ;  those  who  have  none 
won't  touch  them.  So,  friends,  I  am, 

Yours,  rough  and  ready,        JOHN  PLOUGHMAN. 

BURN  A  CANDLE  AT  BOTH  ENDS,  AND  IT  WILL  SOON  BE  GONE. 

Well  may  he  scratch  his  head  who  burns  his  candle  at 
both  ends ;  but  do  what  he  may,  his.  light  will  soon  be  gone 
and  he  will  be  all  in  the  dark.  Young  Jack  Careless 
squandered  his  property,  and  now  he  is  without  a  shoe  to 
his  foot.  His  was  a  case  of  "  easy  come,  easy  go ;  soon 
gotten,  soon  spent."  He  that  earns  an  estate  will  keep  it 
better  than  he  that  inherits  it.  As  the  Scotchman  says, 
"  He  that  gets  gear  before  he  gets  wit  is  but  a  short  time 
master  of  it,"  and  so  it  was  with  Jack.  His  money  burned 
holes  in  his  pocket.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  it  fast  enough 
himself,  and  so  he  got  a  pretty  set  to  help  him,  which  they 
did  by  helping  themselves.  His  fortune  went  like  a  pound 


382  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

of  meat   in   a   kennel   of   hounds.     He  was   every   body's 
friend,  and  now  he  is  every  body's  fool. 

HUNCHBACK  SEES  NOT  HIS  OWN  HUMP,  BUT  HE  SEES  HIS 
NEIGHBOR'S. 

He  points  at  the  man  in  front  of  him,  but  he  is  a  good 
deal  more  of  a  guy  himself  He  should  not  laugh  at  the 
crooked  until  he  is  straight  himself,  and  not  then.  I  hate  to 
hear  a  raven  croak  at  a  crow  for  being  black.  A  blind  man 
should  not  blame  his  brother  for  squinting,  and  he  who  has 
lost  his  legs  should  not  sneer  at  the  lame.  Yet  so  it  is,  the 
rottenest  bough  cracks  first,  and  he  who  should  be  the  last  to 
speak  is  the  first  to  rail.  Bespattered  hogs  bespatter  others, 
and  he  who  is  full  of  fault  finds  fault.  They  are  most  apt  to 
speak  ill  of  others  who  do  most  ill  themselves. 

We  may  chide  a  friend,  and  so  prove  our  friendship,  but 
it  must  be  done  very  daintily,  or  we  may  lose  our  friend  for 
our  pains.  Before  we  rebuke  another  we  must  consider,  and 
take  heed  that  we  are  not  guilty  of  the  same  thing,  for  he 
who  cleanses  a  blot  with  inky  fingers  makes  it  worse.  To 
despise  others  is  a  worse  fault  than  any  we  are  likely  to  see 
in  them,  and  to  make  merry  over  their  weaknesses  shows  our 
own  weakness  and  our  own  malice  too.  Wit  should  be  a 
shield  for  defense,  and  not  a  sword  for  offense.  A  mocking 
word  cuts  worse  than  a  scythe,  and  the  wound  is  harder  to 
heal.  A  blow  is  much  sooner  forgotten  than  a  jeer.  Mock- 
ing is  shocking. 

A  LOOKING-GLASS  IS  OF  NO  USE  TO  A  BLIND  MAN. 

Some  men  are  blinded  by  their  worldly  business,  and 
could  not  see  heaven  itself  if  the  windows  were  open  over 
their  heads.  Look  at  farmer  Grab,  he  is  like  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, for  his  conversation  is  all  among  beasts,  and  if  he 
does  not  eat  grass  it  is  because  he  never  could  stomach  sal- 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN  AGAIN.  383 

ads.  His  dinner  is  his  best  devotion ;  he  is  a  terrible  fast- 
ener on  a  piece  of  beef,  and  sweats  at  it  more  than  at  his 
labor.  As  old  Master  Earle  says :  "  His  religion  is  a  part 
of  his  copyhold,  which  he  takes  from  his  landlord,  and  re- 
fers wholly  to  his  lordship's  discretion.  If  he  gives  him 
leave,  he  goes  to  church  in '  his  best  clothes,  and  sits  there 
with  his  neighbors,  but  never  prays  more  than  two  prayers — 
for  rain  and  for  fair  weather,  as  the  case  may  be.  He  is  a 
niggard  all  the  week,  except  on  market-days,  where,  if  his 
corn  sell  well,  he  thinks  he  may  be  drunk  with  a  good  con- 
science. He  is  sensible  of  no  calamity  but  the  burning  of  a 
stack  of  corn,  or  the  overflowing  of  a  meadow,  and  he  thinks 
Noah's  flood  the  greatest  plague  that  ever  was,  not  because 
it  drowned  the  world,  but  spoiled  the  grass.  For  death  he 
is  never  troubled,  and  if  he  gets  in  his  harvest  before  it  hap- 
pens, it  may  come  when  it  will,  he  cares  not."  He  is  as' 
stubborn  as  he  is  stupid,  and  to  get  a  new  thought  into  his 
head  you  would  need  to  bore  a  hole  in  his  skull  with  a  center- 
bit.  The  game  would  not  be  worth  the  candle.  We  must 
leave  him  alone,  for  he  is  too  old  in  the  tooth,  and  too  blind 
to  be  made  to  see. 

DON'T  CUT  OFF  YOUR  HOSE  TO  SPITE  YOUR  FACE. 

Anger  is  a  short  madness.  The  less  we  do  when  we  go 
mad  the  better  for  every  body,  and  the  less  we  go  mad  the 
better  for  ourselves.  He  is  far  gone  who  hurts  himself  to 
wreak  his  vengeance  on  others.  The  old  saying  is :  "  Do  n't 
cut  off  your  head  because  it  aches,"  and  another  says :  "  Set 
not  your  house  on  fire  to  spite  the  moon."  If  things  go 
awry,  it  is  a  poor  way  of  mending  to  make  them  worse,  as 
the  man  did  who  took  to  drinking  because  he  could  not 
marry  the  girl  he  liked.  He  must  be  a  fool  who  cuts  off  his 
nose  to  spite  his  face,  and  yet  this  is  what  Dick  did  when  he 


384  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

had  vexed  his  old  master,  and  because  he  was  chid  must  needs 
give  up  his  place,  throw  himself  out  of  work,  and  starve  his 
wife  and  family.  Jane  had  heen  idle,  and  she  knew  it,  but 
sooner  than  let  her  mistress  speak  to  her,  she  gave  warning, 
and  lost  as  good  a  service  as  a  maid  could  wish  for.  Old 
Griggs  was  wrong,  and  could  not  deny  it,  and  yet  because 
the  parson's  sermon  fitted  him  rather  close  he  took  the  sulks, 
and  vowed  he  would  never  hear  the  good  man  again.  It 
was  his  own  loss,  but  he  would  n't  listen  to  reason,  but  was 
as  willful  as  a  pig. 

IT  IS  HARD  FOR  AN  EMPTY  SACK  TO  STAND  UPRIGHT. 

Sam  may  try  a  fine  while  before  he  will  make  one  of  his 
empty  sacks  stand  upright.  If  he  were  not  half  daft  he 
would  have  left  oif  that  job  before  he  began  it,  and  not 
have  been  an  Irishman  either.  He  will  come  to  his  wit's 
end  before  he  sets  the  sack  on  ks  end.  The  old  proverb, 
printed  at  the  top,  was  made  by  a  man  who  had  burned  his 
fingers  with  debtors,  and  it  just  means  that  when  folks 
have  no  money  and  are  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  as  often 
as  not  they  leave  off  being  upright,  and  tumble  over  one 
way  or  another.  He  that  has  but  four  and  spends  five  will 
soon  need  no  purse,  but  he  will  most  likely  begin  to  use  his 
wits  to  keep  himself  afloat,  and  take  to  all  sorts  of  dodges 
to  manage  it. 

Nine  times  out  of  ten  they  begin  by  making  promises 
to  pay  on  a  certain  day  when  it  is  certain  they  have  noth- 
ing to  pay  with.  They  are  as  bold  at  fixing  the  time  as  if 
they  had  my  lord's  income ;  the  day  comes  round  as  sure  as 
Christmas,  and  then  they  have  n't  a  penny-piece  in  the 
world,  and  so  they  make  all  sorts  of  excuses  and  begin  to 
promise  again.  Those  who  are  quick  to  promise  are  gen- 
erally slow  to  perform.  They  promise  mountains  and  per- 


JOHN  PLOUGHMAN  AGAIN.  385 

form  mole-hills.  He  who  gives  you  fair  words  and  nothing 
more  feeds  you  with  an  esapty  spoon,  and  hungry  creditors 
soon  grow  tired  of  that  game.  Promises  do  n't  fill  the  belly. 
Promising  men  are  not  great  favorites  if  they  are  not  per- 
forming men.  When  such  a  fellow  is  called  a  liar  he  thinks 
he  is  hardly  done  by ;  and  yet  he  is  so,  as  sure  as  eggs  are 
eggs,  and  there's  no  denying  it,  as  the  boy  said  when  the 
gardener  caught  him  up  the  cherry-tree. 

A  HAND-SAW  IS  A  GOOD  THING,  BUT  NOT  TO  SHAVE  WITH. 

Our  friend  will  cut  more  than  he  will  eat,  and  shave  oft 
something  more  than  hair,  and  then  he  will  blame  the  saw. 
His  brains  do  n't  lie  in  his  beard,  nor  yet  in  the  skull 
above  it,  or  he  would  see  that  his  saw  will  only  make  sores. 
There 's  sense  in  choosing  your  tools,  for  a  pig's  tail  will 
never  make  a  good  arrow,  nor  will  his  ear  make  a  silk 
purse.  You  cau't  catch  rabbits  with  drums,  nor  pigeons 
with  plums.  A  good  thing  is  not  good  out  of  its  place.  It 
is  much  the  same  with  lads  and  girls ;  you  can  't  put  all 
boys  to  one  trade,  nor  send  all  girls  to  the  same  service. 
One  chap  will  make  a  London  clerk,  and  another  will  do 
better  to  plough,  and  sow,  and  reap,  and  mow,  and  be  a 
farmer's  boy.  It 's  no  use  forcing  them ;  a  snail  will  never 
run  a  race,  nor  a  mouse  drive  a  wagon. 

"Send  a  boy  to  the  well  against  his  will, 
The  pitcher  will  break,  and  the  water  spill." 

With  unwilling  hounds  it  is  hard  to  hunt  hares.  To  go 
against  nature  and  inclination  is  to  row  against  wind  and 
tide.  They  say  you  may  praise  a  fool  till  you  make  him 
useful.  I  do  n't  know  so  much  about  that,  but  I  do  know 
that  if  I  get  a  bad  knife  I  generally  cut  my  finger,  and  a 

blunt  axe  is   more  trouble  than  profit.     No,  let  me  shave 

25 


386  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

with   a  razor  if  I  shave  at  all,  and  do  my  work  with  the 
best  tools  I  can  get. 

Never  set  a  man  to  work  he  is  not  fit  for,  for  he  will 
never  do  it  well.  They  say  that  if  pigs  fly  they  always  go 
with  their  tails  forward,  and  awkward  workmen  are  much 
the  same.  Nobody  expects  cows  to  catch  crows,  or  hens  to 
wear  hats.  There 's  reason  in  roasting  eggs,  and  there 
should  be  reason  in  choosing  servants.  Do  n't  put  a  round 
peg  into  a  square  hole,  nor  wind  up  your  watch  with  a 
corkscrew,  nor  set  a  tender-hearted  man  to  whip  wife- 
beaters,  nor  a  bear  to  be  a  relieving-officer,  nor  a  publican 
to  judge  of  the  licensing  laws.  Get  the  right  man  in  the 
right  place,  and  then  all  goes  as  smooth  as  skates  on  ice ; 
but  the  wrong  man  puts  all  awry,  as  the  sow  did  when  she 
folded  the  linen. 

TWO  DOGS  FIGHT  FOR  A  BOKE,  AHD  A  THIRD  RUNS  AWAY  WITH  IT, 

We  have  all  heard  of  the  two  men  who  quarreled  over 
an  oyster,  and  called  in  a  judge  to  settle  the  question;  he  ate 
the  oyster  himself,  and  gave  them  a  shell  each.  This  reminds 
me  of  the  story  of  the  cow  which  two  farmers  could  not  agree 
about,  and  so  the  lawyers  stepped  in  and  milked  the  cow  for 
them,  and  charged  them  for  their  trouble  in  drinking  the 
milk.  Little  is  got  by  law,  but  much  is  lost  by  it.  A  suit 
in  law  may  last  longer  than  any  suit  a  tailor  can  make  you, 
and  you  may  yourself  be  worn  out  before  it  comes  to  an  end. 
It  is  better  far  to  make  matters  up  and  keep  out  of  court, 
for  if  you  are  caught  there  you  are  caught  in  the  brambles, 
and  won't  get  out  without  damage.  John  Ploughman  feels 
a  cold  sweat  at  the  thought  of  getting  into  the  hands  of  law- 
yers. He  does  not  mind  going  to  Jericho,  but  he  dreads  the 
gentlemen  on  the  road,  for  they  seldom  leave  a  feather  upon 
any  goose  which  they  pick  up. 


JOHN  PLO UGHMAN  AGAIN.  387 

HE  HAS  A  HOLE  UNDER  HIS  HOSE.  AKD  HIS  MONEY  RUNS  INTO  IT, 

This  is  the  man  who  is  always  dry,  because  he  takes  so 
much  heavy  wet.  He  is  a  loose  fellow  who  is  fond  of  getting 
tight.  He  is  no  sooner  up  than  his  nose  is  in  the  cup,  and 
his  money  begins  to  run  down  the  hole  which  is  jnst  under 
his  nose.  He  is  not  a  blacksmith,  but  he  has  a  spark  in  his 
throat,  and  all  the  publican's  barrels  can't  put  it  out.  If  a 
pot  of  beer  is  a  yard  of  land,  he  must  have  swallowed  more 
acres  than  a  ploughman  could  get  over  for  many  a  day,  and 
still  he  goes  on  swallowing  until  he  takes  to  wallowing. 
All  goes  down  Gutter  Lane.  Like  the  snipe,  he  lives  by 
suction.  If  you  ask  him  how  he  is,  he  says  he  would  be 
quite  right  if  he  could  moisten  his  mouth.  His  purse  is  a 
bottle,  his  bank  is  the  publican's  till,  and  his  casket  is  a 
cask ;  pewter  is  his  precious  metal,  and  his  pearl  is  a  mixture 
of  gin  and  beer.  The  dew  of  his  youth  conies  from  Ben 
Nevis,  and  the  comfort  of  his  soul  is  cordial  gin.  He  is  a 
walking  barrel,  a  living  drain-pipe,  a  moving  swill-tub. 
They  say  "  loath  to  drink  and  loath  to  leave  off,"  but  he 
never  needs  persuading  to  begin,  and  as  to  ending  that  is 
out  of  the  question  while  he  can  borrow  twopence. 

STICK  TO  IT  AND  DCMT, 

Set  a  stout  heart  to  a  stiff  hill,  and  the  wagon  will  get  to 
the  top  of  it.  There's  nothing  so  hard  but  a  harder  thing 
will  get  through  it ;  a  strong  job  can  be  managed  by  a  strong 
resolution.  Have  at  it  and  have  it.  Stick  to  it  and  succeed. 
Till  a  thing  is  done  men  wonder  that  you  think  it  can  be 
done,  and  when  you  have  done  it  they  wonder  it  was  never 
done  before. 

In  my  picture  the  wagon  is  drawn  by  two  horses ;  but  I 
would  have  every  man  who  wants  to  make  his  way  in  life 
pull  as  if  all  depended  on  himself.  Very  little  is  done  right 


388  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

when  it  is  left  to  other  people.  The  more  hands  to  do  work 
the  less  there  is  done.  One  man  will  carry  two  pails  of  water 
for  himself;  two  men  will  only  carry  one  pail  between  them^ 
and  three  will  come  home  with  never  a  drop  at  all.  A  child 
with  several  mothers  will  die  before  it  runs  alone.  Know 
your  business  and  give  your  mind  to  it,  and  you  will  find  a 
buttered  loaf  where  a  sluggard  loses  his  last  crust. 

LIKE  CAT  LIKE  KIT, 

Most  men  are  what  their  mothers  made  them.  The  father 
is  away  from  home  all  day,  and  has  not  half  the  influence 
over  the  children  that  the  mother  has.  The  cow  has  most 
to  do  with  the  calf.  If  a  ragged  colt  grows  into  a  good  horse, 
we  know  who  it  is  that  combed  him.  A  mother  is  there- 
fore a  very  responsible  woman,  even  though  she  may  be  the 
poorest  in  the  land,  for  the  bad  or  the  good  of  her  boys  and 
girls  very  much  depends  upon  her.  As  is  the  gardener  such 
is  the  garden,  as  is  the  wife  such  is  the  family.  Samuel's 
mother  made  him  -a  little  coat  every  year,  but  she  had  done 
a  deal  for  him  before  that;  Samuel  would  not  have  been 
Samuel  if  Hannah  had  not  been  Hannah.  We  shall  never 
see  a  better  set  of  men  till  the  mothers  are  better.  We  must 
have  Sarahs  and  Rebekahs  before  we  shall  see  Isaacs  and 
Jacobs.  Grace  does  not  run  in  the  blood,  but  we  generally 
find  that  the  Timothies  have  mothers  of  a  goodly  sort. 

Little  children  give  their  mother  the  headache,  but  if 
she  lets  them  have  their  own  way,  when  they  grow  up  to 
be  great  children  they  will  give  her  the  heartache.  Foolish 
fondness  spoils  many,  and  letting  faults  alone  spoils  more. 
Gardens  that  are  never  weeded  will  grow  very  little  worth 
gathering ;  all  watering  and  no  hoeing  will  make  a  bad  crop. 
A  child  may  have  too  much  of  its  mother's  love,  and  in  the 
long  run  it  may  turn  out  that  it  had  too  little.  Soft-hearted 


JOHN  PLO  UHHMAN  A  GAIN.  389 

mothers  rear  soft-hearted  children;  they  hurt  them  for  life 
because  they  are  afraid  of  hurting  them  when  they  are  young. 
Coddle  your  children,  and  they  will  turn  out  noodles.  You 
may  sugar  a  child  till  every  body  is  sick  of  it.  Boys'  jack- 
ets need  a  little  dusting  every  now  and  then,  and  girls'  dresses 
are  all  the  better  for  occasional  trimming.  Children  with- 
out chastisement  are  fields  without  ploughing.  The  very  best 
colts  want  breaking  in.  Not  that  we  like  severity;  cruel 
mothers  are  not  mothers,  and  those  who  are  always  flogging 
and  fault-finding  ought  to  be  flogged  themselves.  There  is 
reason  in  all  things,  as  the  madman  said  when  he  cut  off  his 
nose. 

Good  mothers  are  very  dear  to  their  children.  There  's 
no  mother  in  the  world  like  our  own  mother.  My  friend 
Sanders,  from  Glasgow,  says,  "  The  mither's  breath  is  aye 
sweet."  Every  woman  is  a  handsome  woman  to  her  own 
son.  That  man  is  not  worth  hanging  who  does  not  love 
his  mother.  When  good  women  lead  their  little  ones  to  the 
Saviour,  the  Lord  Jesus  blesses  not  only  the  children,  but 
their  mothers  as  well.  Happy  are  they  among  women  who 
see  their  sons  and  daughters  walking  in  the  truth. 

A  BLACK  HEH  LAYS  A  WHITE  EGG. 

The  egg  is  white  enough,  though  the  hen  is  black  as  a 
coal.  This  is  a  very  simple  thing,  but  it  has  pleased  the 
simple  mind  of  John  Ploughman,  and  made  him  cheer  up 
when  things  have  gone  hard  with  him.  Out  of  evil  comes 
good,  through  the  great  goodness  of  God.  From  threaten- 
ing clouds  we  get  refreshing  showers;  in  dark  mines  men 
find  bright  jewels;  and  so  from  our  worst  troubles  come 
our  best  blessings.  The  bitter  cold  sweetens  the  ground, 
and  the  rough  winds  fasten  the  roots  of  the  old  oaks.  God 
sends  us  letters  of  love  in  envelopes  with  black  borders. 


390  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Many  a  time  have  I  plucked  sweet  fruit  from  bramble 
bushes,  and  taken  lovely  roses  from  among  prickly  thorns. 
Trouble  is  to  believing  men  and  women  like  the  sweetbrier 
in  our  hedges,  and  where  it  grows  there  is  a  delicious  smell 
all  around,  if  the  dew  do  but  fall  upon  it  from  above. 

Cheer  up,  mates,  all  will  come  right  in  the  end.  The 
darkest  night  will  turn  to  a  fair  morning  in  due  time.  Only 
let  us  trust  in  God,  and  keep  our  heads  above  the  waves  of 
fear.  When  our  hearts  are  right  with  God  every  thing  is 
right.  Let  us  look  for  the  silver  which  lines  every  cloud, 
and  when  we  do  not  see  it  let  us  believe  that  it  is  there. 
We  are  all  at  school,  and  our  great  Teacher  writes  many 
a  bright  lesson  on  the  blackboard  of  affliction.  Scant  fare 
teaches  us  to  live  on  heavenly  bread,  sickness  bids  us  send 
off  for  the  good  Physician,  loss  of  friends  makes  Jesus  more 
precious,  and  even  the  sinking  of  our  spirits  brings  us  to 
live  more  entirely  upon  God.  All  things  are  working 
together  for  the  good  of  those  who  love  God,  and  even 
death  itself  will  bring  them  their  highest  gain.  Thus  the 
black  hen  lays  a  white  egg. 

KYERY  BIRD  LIKES  ITS  OWN  NEST. 

It  pleases  me  to  see  how  fond  the  birds  are  of  their 
little  homes.  No  doubt  each  one  thinks  his  own  nest  is 
the  very  best;  and  so  it  is  for  him,  just  as  my  home  is  the 
best  palace  for  me,  even  for  me,  King  John,  the  king  of  the 
Cottage  of  Content.  I  will  ask  no  more  if  Providence  only 
continues  to  give  me 

"  A  little  field  well  tilled, 
A  little  house  well  filled, 
And  a  little  wife  well  willed." 

An  Englishman's  house  is  his  castle,  and  the  true  Briton 
is  always  fond  of  the  old  roof-tree.  Green  grows  the  house- 


JOHN  PL  0  UGHMAN  A  GAIN.  39 1 

leek  on  the  thatch,  and  sweet  is  the  honeysuckle  at  the 
porch,  and  dear  are  the  gilly-flowers  in  the  front  garden ; 
but  best  of  all  is  the  good  wife  within,  who  keeps  all  as  neat 
as  a  new  pin.  Frenchmen  may  live  in  their  coffee-houses, 
but  an  Englishman's  best  life  is  seen  at  home. 

"  My  own  house,  though  small, 
Is  the  best  house  of  all." 

When  boys  get  tired  of  eating  tarts,  and  maids  have 
done  with  winning  hearts,  and  lawyers  cease  to  take  their 
fees,  and  leaves  leave  off  to  grow  on  trees,  then  will  John 
Ploughman  cease  to  love  his  own  dear  home.  John  likes 
to  hear  some  sweet  voice  sing, 

"  'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there 's  no  place  like  home ; 
A  charm  from  the  sky  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  wherever  we  rove,  is  not  met  with  elsewhere. 

Home !  Home !  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

There 's  no  place  like  home  1" 


XLIII. 


(BORN  1812— DIED  1875.)' 
FROM  THE  SHOEMAKER'S  BENCH  TO  THE  CHAIR  OF  VICE-PRESIDENT. 


ENET  WILSON,  the  Vice-president  of  the 
United  States,  was  at  my  tea-table  with  the  strang- 
est appetite  I  ever  knew.  The  fact  was,  his  last 
sickness  was  on  him,  and  his  inward  fever  de- 
manded everything  cold.  It  was  tea  without  any  tea.  He 
was  full  of  reminiscence,  and  talked  over  his  life  from  boy- 
hood till  then.  He  impressed  me  with  the  fact  that  he  was 
nearly  through  his  earthly  journey.  Going  to  my  Church 
that  evening  to  speak  at  our  young  peoples'  anniversary,  he 
delivered  the  last  address  of  his  public  life.  While  seated 
at  the  beginning  of  the  exercises,  his  modesty  seemed  to 
overcome  him,  and  he  said :  "  I  am  not  prepared  to  address 
such  a  magnificent  audience  as  that.  Can  not  you  get  some- 
body else  to  speak?  I  wish  you  would."  "O  no,"  I 
said,  "these  people  came  to  hear  Henry  Wilson."  He 
placed  a  chair  in  the  center  of  the  platform  to  lean  on.  Not 
knowing  he  had  put  it  in  that  position,  I  removed  it  twice. 
Then  he  whispered  to  me,  saying :  "  Why  do  you  remove 
that  chair?  I  want  it  to  lean  on."  The  fact  was,  his  phys- 
icalvstrength  was  gone.  When  he  arose  his  hands  and  knees 
trembled  with  excitement,  and  the  more  so  as  the  entire  au- 
dience arose  and  cheered  him.  One  hand  on  the  top  of  the 
chair,  he  stood  for  half  an  hour,  saying  useful  things,  and, 
among  others,  these  words:  "I  hear  men  sometimes  say, 
when  a  man  writes  his  name  on  the  records  of  a  visible 
392 


HENRY  WILSON.  393 

Church,  that  he  had  better  let  other  things  alone,  especially 
public  affairs.  I  am  not  a  believer  in  that  Christianity 
which  hides  itself  away.  I  believe  in  that  robust  Chris- 
tianity that  goes  right  out  in  God's  world  and  works.  If 
there  ever  was  a  time  in  our  country,  that  time  is  now,  when 
the  young  men  of  this  country  should  reflect  and  act  ac- 
cording to  the  teachings  of  God's  holy  Word,  and  attempt  to 
purify,  lift  up,  and  carry  our  country  onward  and  forward, 
so  that  it  shall  be  in  practice  what  it  is  in  theory — the  great 
leading  Christian  nation  of  the  globe.  You  will  be  disap- 
pointed in  many  of  your  hopes  and  aspirations.  The  friends 
near  and  dear  to  you  will  turn  sometimes  coldly  from  you;  the 
wives  of  your  bosom  and  the  children  of  your  love  will  be 
taken  from  you;  your  high  hopes  may  be  blasted;  but,  gen- 
tlemen, when  friends  turn  their  backs  upon  you,  when  you 
lay  your  dear  ones  away,  when  disappointments  come  to  you 
on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  there  is  one  source  for  a 
true  and  brave  heart,  and  that  is  an  abiding  faith  in  God, 
and  a  trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

Having  concluded  his  address  he  sat  down,  physically 
exhausted.  When  we  helped  him  into  his  carriage  we  never 
expected  to  see  him  again.  The  telegram  from  Washington 
announcing  his  prostration  and  certain  death  was  no  sur- 
prise. But  there  and  then  ended  as  remarkable  a  life  as  was 
ever  lived  in  America. 

It  is  no  great  thing  if  a  man  who  has  been  carefully 
nurtured  by  intelligent  parents,  and  then  passed  through 
school,  college,  and  those  additional  years  of  professional 
study,  go  directly  to  the  front.  But  start  a  man  amid  every 
possible  disadvantage,  and  pile  in  his  way  all  possible  ob- 
stacles, and  then  if  he  take  his  position  among  those  whose 
path  was  smooth,  he  must  have  the  elements  of  power. 
Henry  Wilson  was  great  in  the  mastering  and  overcoming 


394  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

all  disadvantageous  circumstances.  He  began  at  the  bottom, 
and  without  any  help  fought  his  own  way  to  the  top.  If 
there  ever  was  a  man  who  had  a  right  at  the  start  to  give 
up  his  earthly  existence  as  a  failure,  that  man  was  Henry 
Wilson.  Born  of  a  dissolute  father,  so  that  the  son  took 
another  name  in  order  to  escape  the  disgrace ;  never  having 
a  dollar  of  his  own  before  he  was  twenty-one  years  of  agej 
toiling  industriously  in  a  shoemaker's  shop,  that  he  might 
get  the  means  of  schooling  and  culture ;  then  loaning  his 
money  to  a  man  who  swamped  it  all  and  returned  none  of 
it;  but  still  toiling  on  and  up  until  he  came  to  the  State 
Legislature,  and  on  and  up  until  he  reached  the  American 
Senate,  and  on  and  up  till  he  became  Vice-president.  In 
all  this  there  ought  to  be  great  encouragement  to  those  who 
wake  up  late  in  life  to  find  themselves  unequipped.  Henry 
Wilson  did  not  begin  his  education  until  most  of  our  young 
men  think  they  have  finished  theirs.  If  you  are  twenty-five 
or  thirty,  or  forty  or  fifty,  it  is  not  too  late  to  begin.  Isaac 
Walton  at  ninety  years  of  age  wrote  his  valuable  book  ;  Ben- 
jamin Franklin,  almost  an  octogenarian,  went  into  philo- 
sophic discoveries;  Fontenelle's  mind  blossomed  even  in  the 
Winter  of  old  age;  Arnauld  made  valuable  translations  at 
eighty  years  of  age;  Christopher  Wren  added  to  the  astro- 
nomical and  religious  knowlege  of  the  world  at  eighty-six 
years  of  age. 

Do  not  let  any  one,  in  the  light  of  Henry  Wilson's 
career,  be  discouraged.  Rittenhouse  conquered  his  poverty; 
John  Milton  overcame  his  blindness;  Robert  Hall  over- 
leaped his  sickness ;  and  plane  and  hammer,  and  adze  and 
pickax,  and  crowbar  and  yardstick,  and  shoe-last  have  routed 
many  an  army  of  opposition  and  oppression.  Let  every 
disheartened  man  look  at  two  pictures — Henry  Wilson 
teaching  fifteen  hours  a  day  at  five  dollars  a  week  to  get 


HENRY  WILSON.  395 

his  education,  and  Henry  Wilson  under  the  admiring  gaze 
of  Christendom  at  the  national  capital.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  men  who  maintained  his  integrity  against  violent  tempta- 
tions. The  tides  of  political  life  all  set  toward  dissipation. 
The  congressional  burying-ground  at  Washington  holds  the 
bones  of  many  congressional  drunkards.  Henry  Wilson 
seated  at  a  banquet  with  senators  and  presidents  and  foreign 
ministers,  the  nearest  he  ever  came  to  taking  their  expensive 
brandies  and  wines  was  to  say,  "  No,  sir,  I  thank  you ;  I 
never  indulge."  He  never  drank  the  health  of  other  people 
in  any  thing  that  hurt  his  own.  He  never  was  more  vehe- 
ment than  in  flinging  his  thunderbolts  of  scorn  against  the 
decanter  and  the  dram-shop.  What  a  rebuke  it  is  for  men 
in  high  and  exposed  positions  in  this  country  who  say,  "  We 
can  not  be  in  our  positions  without  drinking."  If  Henry 
Wilson,  under  the  gaze  of  senators  and  presidents,  could  say 
No,  certainly  you  under  the  jeers  of  your  commercial  asso- 
ciates ought  to  be  able  to  say  No.  Henry  Wilson  also  con- 
quered all  temptations  to  political  corruption.  He  died 
comparatively  a  poor  man,  when  he  might  have  filled  his 
own  pockets  and  the  pockets  of  his  friends  if  he  had  only 
consented  to  go  into  some  of  the  infamous  opportunities 
which  tempted  our  public  men.  Credit  MobUier,  which  took 
down  so  many  senators  and  representatives,  touched  him, 
but  glanced  off,  leaving  him  uncontaminated  in  the  opinion 
of  all  fair-minded  men.  He  steered  clear  of  the  "Lobby,", 
that  maelstom  which  has  swallowed  up  so  many  strong  po- 
litical crafts.  The  bribing  railroad  schemes  that  ran  over 
half  of  our  public  men  always  left  him  on  the  right  side  ot 
the  track.  With  opportunities  to  have  made  millions  of 
dollars  by  the  surrender  of  good  principles,  he  never  made  a 
cent.  Along  by  the  coasts  strewn  with  the  hulks  of  politi- 
cal adventurers  he  voyaged  without  loss  of  rudder  or  spar. 


396  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

We  were  not  surprised  at  his  funeral  honors.  If  there  ever 
was  a  man  after  death  fit  to  lie  on  Abraham  Lincoln's  cata- 
falque, and  near  the  marble  representation  of  Alexander 
Hamilton,  and  under  Crawford's  splendid  statue  of  Freedom, 
with  a  sheathed  sword  in  her  hand  and  a  wreath  of  stars  on 
her  brow,  and  to  be  carried  out  amid  the  acclamation  and 
conclamation  of  a  grateful  people,  that  man  was  Henry 
Wilson. 

The  ministers  did  not  at  his  obsequies  have  a  hard  time 
to  make  out  a  good  case  as  to  his  future  destiny,  as  in  one 
case  where  a  clergyman  in  offering  consolation  as  to  the  de- 
parture of  a  man  who  had  been  very  eminent,  but  went 
down  through  intemperance  till  he  died  in  a  snow-bank,  his 
rum-jug  beside  him.  At  the  obsequies  of  that  unfortunate, 
the  officiating  pastor  declared  that  the  departed  was  a  good 
Greek  and  Latin  scholar.  We  have  had  United  States 
senators  who  used  the  name  of  God  rhetorically,  and  talked 
grandly  about  virtue  and  religion,  when  at  that  moment 
they  were  so  drunk  they  could  scarcely  stand  up.  But 
Henry  Wilson  was  an  old-fashioned  Christian,  who  had  re- 
pented of  his  sins  and  put  his  trust  in  Christ.  By  profes- 
sion he  was  a  Congregationalist ;  but  years  ago  he  stood  up 
in  a  Methodist  meeting-house  and  told  how  he  had  found 
the  Lord,  and  recommending  all  the  people  to  choose  Christ 
as  their  portion — the  same  Christ  about  whom  he  was  read- 
.ing  the  very  night  before  he  died,  in  that  little  book  called 
"  The  Changed  Cross,"  the  more  tender  passages  marked 
with  his  own  lead-pencil;  and  amid  these  poems  of  Christ 
Henry  Wilson  had  placed  the  pictures  of  his  departed  wife 
and  departed  son,  for  I  suppose  he  thought  as  these  were 
with  Christ  in  heaven  their  dear  faces  might  as  well  be  next 
to  His  name  in  the  book. 

It  was  appropriate  that  our  Vice-president  expire  in  the 


HENRY  WILSON.  397 

Capitol  buildings,  the  scene  of  so  many  years  of  his  patri- 
otic work.  At  the  door  of  that  marbled  and  pictured  Vice- 
president's  room  many  a  man  has  been  obliged  to  wait 
because  of  the  necessities  of  business,  and  to  wait  a  great 
while  before  he  could  get  in ;  but  that  morning,  while  the 
Vice-president  was  talking  about  taking  a  ride,  a  sable  mes- 
senger arrived  at  the  door,  not  halting  a  moment,  not  even 
knocking  to  see  if  he  might  get  in,  but  passed  up  and  smote 
the  lips  into  silence  forever.  The  sable  messenger  moving 
that  morning  through  the  splendid  Capitol  stopped  not  to 
look  at  the  mosaics,  or  the  fresco,  or  the  panels  of  Tennessee 
and  Italian  marble,  but  darted  in  and  darted  out  in  an  in- 
stant, and  his  work  was  done.  It  is  said  that  Charles  Su in- 
ner was  more  scholarly,  and  that  Stephen  A.  Douglas  was  a 
better  organizer,  and  that  John  J.  Crittenden  was  more  elo- 
quent ;  but  calling  up  my  memory  of  Henry  Wilson,  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  that  life  is  grandly  eloquent 
whose  peroration  is  heaven. — DR.  TALMADGE,  in  The  Sunday 
Magazine. 


XLIV. 


(BORN  1412— DIED  1431.) 

THE  PEASANT  MAIDEN  WHO  DELIVERED  HER  COUNTRY  AND  BECAME 
A  MARTYR  IN  ITS  CAUSE. 


O  story  of  heroism  has  greater  attractions  for 
youthful  readers  than  that  of  Joan  of  Arc,  the 
Maid  of  Orleans.  It  would  be  long  to  tell  how 
for  hundreds  of  years  the  greatest  jealousy  and 
mistrust  existed  between  England  and  France,  and  how 
constant  disputes  between  their  several  sovereigns  led  to 
wars  and  tumults ;  how,  in  the  time  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  of 
England,  a  state  of  wild  confusion  existed  on  the  continent, 
and  how  that  king  also  claimed  to  be  king  of  France ; 
how  this  fifth  Henry  was  married  to  Catherine,  daughter 
of  King  Charles,  and  how  they  were  crowned  king  and 
queen  of  France  ;  how,  in  the  midst  of  his  triumphs,  Henry 
died,  and  his  son,  an  infant  less  than  a  year  old,  was  de- 
clared king  in  his  stead ;  how  wars  broke  out,  and  how,  at 
last,  a  simple  maiden  saved  her  country  from  the  grasp  of 
ambitious  men.  Hardly  anything  in  history  is  more  won- 
derful than  the  way  in  which  she  was  raised  up  to  serve  her 
country's  need,  and,  having  served  it,  died  a  martyr  in 
its  cause. 

Joan  of  Arc,  Maid  of  Orleans,  was  born  in  the  forest 
of  Greux,  upon  the  Meuse,  in  the  village  of  Domremy,  in 
Lorraine,  in  the  year  1412.  At  this  time  France  was  di- 
vided into  two  factions — the  Burgtmdians  and  the  Armag- 
nacs — the  former  of  whom  favored  the  English  cause,  and 
the  latter  pledged  to  the  cause  of  their  country. 
898 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  399 

Joan  was  the  daughter  of  simple  villagers.  She  was 
brought  up  religiously,  and  from  her  earliest  youth  is  said 
to  have  seen  visions  and  dreamed  dreams;  the  one  great 
dream  of  her  life  was,  however,  the  deliverance  of  her  coun- 
try from  foreign  invasions  and  domestic  broils.  When  only 
about  thirteen  years  of  age,  she  announced  to  the  astonished 
townspeople  that  she  had  a  mission,  and  that  she  meant  to 
fulfill  it. 

The  disasters  of  the  war  reached  Joan's  home ;  a  party 
of  Burgundiaus  dashed  into  Domremy,  and  the  Armagnacs 
fled  before  them.  Joan's  family  took  refuge  in  the  town  of 
Neufchateau,  and  she  paid  for  their  lodging  at  an  inn  by 
helping  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Here,  in  a  more  public  place,  it  was  soon  seen  and  won- 
dered at  that  such  a  young  girl  was  so  much  interested  in 
the  war.  Her  parents  were  already  angry  that  she  would 
not  marry.  They  began  to  be  frightened  now.  Jacques 
D'Arc  told  one  of  his  sons  that  sooner  than  let  Joan  go  to 
the  camp  he  would  drown  her  with  his  own  hands.  She 
could  not,  however,  be  kept  back.  Very  cautiously,  and 
as  though  afraid  to  speak  of  such  high  things,  she  began 
to  let  fall  hints  of  what  she  saw.  Half-frightened  herself 
at  what  she  said,  she  exclaimed  to  &  neighbor,  "  There  is 
now,  between  Colombey  and  Vaucouleurs,  a  maid  who  will 
cause  the  king  of  France  to  be  crowned !" 

Now  came  the  turn  in  the  war,  when  all  the  strength 
of  both  sides  was  to  be  gathered  up  into  one  great  struggle, 
and  it  was  to  be  shown  whether  the  king  was  to  have  his 
right,  or  the  usurper  triumph.  The  real  leaders  of  the  war 
were  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  regent  of  England,  and  the  cap- 
tains of  the  French  army.  Bedford  gathered  a  vast  force, 
chiefly  from  Burgundy,  and  gave  its  command  to  the  Earl 
of  Salisbury.  The  army  went  on ;  they  gained,  without  a 


400  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

struggle,  the  towns  of  Rambouillet,  Pithwier,  Jargean,  and 
others.  Then  they  encamped  before  the  city  of  Orleans. 
To  this  point  they  drew  their  whole  strength.  Orleans 
taken,  the  whole  country  beyond  was  theirs,  as  it  com- 
manded the  entrance  to  the  River  Loire  and  the  southern 
provinces;  and  the  only  stronghold  left  to  King  Charles 
was  the  mountain  country  of  Auvergne  and  Dauphiue. 

The  men  of  Orleans  well  knew  how  much  depended 
upon  their  city.  All  that  could  be  done  they  did  to  pre- 
pare for  a  resolute  defense.  The  siege  of  Orleans  was  one 
of  the  first  in  which  cannon  were  used.  Salisbury  visiting 
the  works,  a  cannon  broke  a  splinter  from  a  casement, 
which  struck  him  and  gave  him  his  death  wound.  The 
Earl  of  Suffolk,  who  was  appointed  to  succeed  him,  never 
had  his  full  power. 

Suffolk  could  not  tame  the  spirit  of  the  men  of  Orleans 
by  regular  attack,  so  he  tried  other  means.  He  resolved  to 
block  it  up  by  surrounding  it  with  forts,  and  starve  the 
people  out.  But  for  some  time,  before  the  works  were 
finished,  food  was  brought  into  the  city;  while  the  French 
troops,  scouring  the  plains,  as  often  stopped  the  supplies 
coming  to  the  English.  Faster,  however,  than  they  were 
brought  in,  the  provisions  in  Orleans  wasted  away.  And 
through  the  dreary  Winter  the  citizens  watched  one  fort 
after  another  rise  around  them.  The  enemy  was  growing 
stronger,  they  were  growing  weaker ;  they  had  no  prospect 
before  them  but  defeat;  when  the  Spring  came  would  come 
the  famine ;  their  city  would  be  lost,  and  then  their  country. 

The  eyes  of  all  France  were  upon  Orleans.  News  of 
the  seige  and  of  the  distress  came  to  Domremy,  and  Joan 
of  Arc  rose  to  action.  Her  mind  was  fixed  to  go  and  raise 
the  seige  of  Orleans  and  crown  Charles  king.  Not  for  one 
moment  did  she  think  it  impossible  or  even  unlikely. 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  401 

What  God  had  called  her  to  do,  that  she  would  carry  out. 
She  made  no  secret  of  her  call,  but  went  to  Vaucouleurs  and 
told  De  Briancourt  that  she  meant  to  save  France.  At  first 
the  governor  treated  her  lightly,  and  told  her  to  go  home 
and  dream  about  a  sweetheart;  but  such  was  her  earnestness 
that  at  last  not  only  he,  but  thousands  of  other  people,  be- 
lieved in  the  mission  of  Joan  of  Arc.  And  so,  before  many 
days,  she  set  out,  with  many  noble  attendants,  to  visit  Charles 
at  the  castle  of  Chinon. 

On  all  who  saw  her,  Joan's  earnestness,  singleness  of 
heart,  and  deep  piety  made  but  one  impression.  Only  the 
king  remained  undecided ;  he  could  hardly  be  roused  to  see 
her,  but  at  last  he  named  a  day,  and  Joan  of  Arc  had  her 
desire  and  stood  before  him  in  the  great  hall  of  Chinon. 
Fifty  torches  lighted  the  hall,  which  was  crowded  with 
knights  and  nobles.  Joan,  too  self-forgetful  to  feel  abashed, 
walked  forward  firmly.  Charles  had  placed  himself  among 
his  courtiers,  so  that  she  should  not  know  him.  Not  by  in- 
spiration, as  they  thought,  but  because  with  her  enthusiasm 
she  must  have  heard  him  described  often  and  often,  she  at 
once  singled  him  out  and  clasped  his  knees.  Charles  denied 
that  he  was  the  king.  "  In  the  name  of  God,"  Joan  an- 
swered, "  it  no  other  but  yourself.  Most  noble  Lord  Dau- 
phin, I  am  Joan,  the  maid  sent  on  the  part  of  God  to 
aid  you  and  your  kingdom  ;  and  by  his  command  I  announce 
to  you' that  you  shall  be  crowned  in  the  city  of  Rheims,  and 
shall  become  his  lieutenant  in  the  realm  of  France."  Charles 
led  her  aside,  and  told  his  courtiers  afterward  that  in  their 
private  conversation  she  had  revealed  to  him  secrets.  But 
all  that  she  said  appears  to  have  been,  "  I  tell  thee  from  my 
Lord  that  thou  art  the  true  heir  of  France."  A  few  days 
before  the  king  had  offered  a  prayer  for  help  only  on  con- 
dition that  he  was  the  rightful  sovereign,  and  it  has  been 

26 


402  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

well  said  that  "  such  a  coincidence  of  idea  on  so  obvious  a 
topic  seems  very  far  from  supernatural  or  even  surprising." 
It  is  but  one  out  of  many  proofs  how  ready  every  one  in 
those  days  was  to  believe  in  signs  and  wonders. 

Her  fame  spread  wide ;  there  went  abroad  all  kinds  of 
reports  about  her  miraculous  powers.  Already  the  French 
began  to  hope  and  the  English  to  wonder. 

The  king  still  doubted,  and  so  did  his  council.  People 
in  our  own  day,  who  admire  the  wisdom  of  the  Dark  Ages, 
would  do  well  to  study  the  story  of  Joan  of  Arc.  She  was 
taken  before  the  University  of  Poictiers.  Six  weeks  did  the 
learned  doctors  employ  in  determining  whether  Joan  was 
sent  by  God  or  in  league  with  the  devil.  She  never  made 
any  claim  to  supernatural  help  beyond  what  she  needed  to 
fulfill  her  mission.  She  refused  to  give  them  a  sign,  saying 
that  her  sign  would  be  at  Orleans — the  leading  of  brave 
men  to  battle.  She  boasted  no  attainments,  declaring  that 
she  knew  neither  A  nor  B ;  only,  she  must  raise  the  siege 
of  Orleans  and  crown  the  Dauphin.  The  friars  sent  to  her 
old  home  to  inquire  about  her,  and  brought  back  a  spotless 
report  of  her  life.  So,  after  the  tedious  examination,  the 
judgment  of  the  learned  and  wise  men  of  Poictiers  was  that 
Charles  might  accept  her  services  without  peril  to  his  soul. 

The  vexatious  delays  over,  Joan  of  Arc  set  out  for  Or- 
leans. In  the  church  of  Fierbois  she  had  seen,  among 
other  old  weapons,  a  sword  marked  with  five  crosses'.  For 
this  she  sent.  When  she  left  Vaucouleurs  she  had  put  on  a 
man's  dress;  now  she  was  clad  in  white  armor.  A  banner 
was  prepared  under  her  directions;  this  also  was  white, 
strewn  with  the  lilies  of  France. 

So  much  time  had  been  lost  that  Joan  was  not  at  Blois 
till  the  middle  of  April.  She  entered  the  town  on  horse- 
back; her  head  was  uncovered.  All  men  admired  her 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  403 

skillful  riding  and  the  poise  of  her  lance.  Joan  carried  all 
before  her  now ;  she  brought  spirit  to  the  troops ;  the  ar- 
mor laid  down  was  buckled  on  afresh  when  she  appeared; 
the  hearts  of  the  people  were  lifted  up — they  would  have 
died  for  her.  Charles,  who  had  been  with  the  army,  slipped 
back  to  Chinon;  but  he  left  behind  him  better  and  braver 
men — his  five  bravest  leaders.  Joan  began  her  work  glo- 
riously by  clearing  the  camp  of  all  bad  characters.  Father 
Pasquerel  bore  her  banner  through  the  streets,  while  Joan, 
with  the  priests  who  followed,  sang  the  Litany  and  exhorted 
men  to  prepare  for  battle  by  repentance  and  prayer.  In 
this,  as  in  all  else,  she  succeeded. 

When  the  English  heard  that  Joan  was  really  coming, 
they  pretended  to  scorn  her.  Common  report  made  Joan  a 
prophet  and  a  worker  of  miracles.  Hearts  beat  higher  in 
Orleans  than  they  had  done  for  mouths.  More  terror  was 
in  the  English  camp  than  it  had  ever  known  before. 

The  English  took  no  heed  of  Joan's  order  to  submit. 
They  little  thought  that  in  a  fortnight  they  would  flee  be- 
fore a  woman. 

She  entered  the  city  at  midnight.  LaHire  and  two  hun- 
dred men,  with  lances,  were  her  escort.  Though  she  had 
embarked  close  under  an  English  fort,  she  was  not  molested. 
Untouched  by  the  enemy,  coming  in  the  midst  of  the  storm, 
bringing  plenty,  and  the  lights  of  her  procession  shining  in 
the  black  night,  we  can  not  wonder  that  the  men  of  Orleans 
looked  on  her  as  in  very  truth  the  messenger  of  God.  They 
flocked  round  her,  and  he  who  could  touch  but  her  horse 
was  counted  happy. 

Joan  went  straight  to  the  cathedral,  where  she  had  the 
Te  Deum  chanted.  The  people  thought  that  already  they 
were  singing  their  thanksgivings  for  victory.  Despair  was 
changed  to  hope ;  fear  to  courage.  She  was  known  as  "  the 


404  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Maid  of  Orleans."  From  the  cathedral  she  went  to  the 
house  of  one  of  the  most  esteemed  ladiss  of  the  town,  with 
whom  she  had  chosen  to  live.  A  great  supper  had  been 
prepared  for  her,  but  she  took  only  a  bit  of  bread  sopped  in 
wine  before  she  went  to  sleep.  By  her  orders,  the  next  day 
an  archer  fastened  to  his  arrow  a  letter  of  warning,  and  shot 
it  into  the  English  lines.  She  went  herself  along  the 
bridge  and  exhorted  the  enemy  to  depart.  Sir  William 
Gladsdale  tried  to  conceal  his  fright  by  answering  her  with 
such  rude  words  as  made  her  weep.  Four  days  afterwards 
the  real  terror  of  the  English  was  shown.  The  Maid  of 
Orleans  and  LaHire  went  to  meet  the  second  load  of  pro- 
visions. As  it  passed  close  under  the  English  lines  not  an 
arrow  was  shot  against  it;  not  a  man  appeared. 

Joan  of  Arc  was  now  to  win  as  much  glory  by  her  cour- 
age as  before  her  very  name  had  brought.  While  she  was 
lying  down  to  rest,  that  same  afternoon,  the  towns-people 
went  out  to  attack  the  Bastile  of  St.  Loup.  They  had  sent 
her  no  word  of  the  fight.  But  Joan  started  suddenly  from 
her  bed,  declaring  that  her  voices  told  her  to  go  against  the 
English.  She  put  on  her  armor,  mounted  her  horse,  and, 
with  her  banner  in  her  hand,  galloped  through  the  streets. 
The  French  were  retreating,  but  they  gathered  again  round 
her  white  banner,  and  Joan  led  them  on  once  more.  Her 
spirit  rose  with  the  thickness  of  the  fight.  She  dashed  right 
into  the  midst.  The  battle  raged  for  three  hours  round  the 
Bastile  of  St.  Loup,  then  Joan  led  on  the  French  to  storm 
it.  Joan  of  Arc,  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  had  gained  her  first 
victory. 

The  day  after  there  was  no  fighting,  for  it  was  the  Feast 
of  the  Ascension.  Joan  had  been  first  in  the  fight  yester- 
day; she  was  first  in  prayer  to-day.  She  brought  many  of 
the  soldiers  to  their  knees  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives. 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  405 

All  along  the  captains  had  doubted  the  military  skill  of 
"the  simplest  girl  they  had  ever  seen/'  and  they  did  not 
call  her  to  the  council  they  held  that  day.  They  resolved 
to  attack  the  English  forts  on  the  southern  and  weakest 
side.  After  a  little  difficulty  Joan  consented,  when  she  was 
told  of  it.  The  next  day,  before  daybreak,  she  took  her 
place  with  LaHire  on  a  small  island  in  the  Loire,  from 
whence  they  crossed  in  boats  to  the  southern  bank.  Their 
hard  day's  work  was  set  about  early.  Joan  would  not 
wait  for  more  troops,  but  began  the  fight  at  once.  The  En- 
glish joined  two  garrisons  together,  and  thus  for  a  time 
overpowered  the  French  as  they  attacked  the  Bastile  of  the 
Augustins. 

Carried  on  for  a  little  while  with  the  flying,  Joan  soon 
turned  round  again  upon  the  enemy.  The  sight  of  the  witch, 
as  they  thought  her,  was  enough.  The  English  screened 
themselves  from  her  and  her  charms  behind  their  walls. 
Help  was  coming  up  for  the  French.  They  made  a  fresh 
attack ;  the  bastile  was  taken  and  set  on  fire.  Joan  returned 
to  the  city  slightly  wounded  in  the  foot. 

The  only  fort  left  to  the  English  was  their  first-made 
and  strongest,  the  Bastile  de  Tournelles.  It  was  held  by 
the  picked  men  of  their  army,  Gladsdale  and  his  company. 
The  French  leaders  wished  to  delay  its  attack  until  they  had 
fresh  soldiers.  This  suited  Joan  little.  "  You  have  been  to 
your  council,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  been  to  mine.  Be  as- 
sured that  the  council  of  my  Lord  will  hold  good,  and  that 
the  council  of  men  will  perish."  The  hearts  of  the  people 
were  with  her ;  the  leaders  thought  it  best  to  give  in.  Vic- 
tory followed  wherever  she  led,  and,  after  several  actions, 
at  which  she  took  active  part,  the  siege  was  raised.  It  be- 
gan on  the  12th  of  October,  1428,  and  was  raised  on  the 
14th  of  May,  1429. 


406  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Even  now,  in  Orleans,  the  14th  of  May  is  held  sacred, 
that  day  on  which,  in  1429,  the  citizens  watched  the  En- 
glish lines  growing  less  and  less  in  the  distance. 

Joan  of  Arc  had  even  yet  done  but  half  her  work. 
Neither  Charles  nor  Henry  had  been  crowned.  That  the 
crown  should  be  placed  on  Charles's  head  was  what  she 
still  had  to  accomplish.  Though  we  have  always  spoken 
of  him  as  "  King,"  he  was  not  so  in  reality  until  this  had 
been  done.  He  was  strictly  but  the  Dauphin.  Bedford 
wished  much  that  young  Henry  should  be  crowned ;  for  let 
Charles  once  have  the  holy  crown  on  his  brow,  and  the  oil 
of  anointing  on  his  head,  and  let  him  stand  where  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  his  fathers  had  stood  to  be  consecrated  kings 
of  France,  in  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims,  before  his  people  as 
their  king,  any  crowning  afterwards  would  be  a  mockery. 
Charles  was  now  with  the  Court  of  Tours.  Rheims  was  a 
long  way  off  in  the  north,  and  to  get  there  would  be  a  work 
of  some  difficulty;  yet  get  there  he  must,  for  the  coronation 
could  not  take  place  anywhere  else.  Joan  went  to  Tours, 
and,  falling  before  him,  she  begged  him  to  go  and  receive 
his  crown,  saying,  that  when  her  voices  gave  her  this  mes- 
sage she  was  marvelously  rejoiced.  Charles  did  not  seem 
much  rejoiced  to  receive  it.  He  said  a  great  deal  about  the 
dangers  of  the  way,  and  preferred  that  the  other  English 
posts  on  the  Loire  should  be  taken  first.  It  must  have 
been  very  trying  to  one  so  quick  and  eager  as  Joan  to  deal 
with  such  a  person,  but,  good  or  bad,  he  was  her  king.  She 
was  not  idle  because  she  could  not  do  exactly  as  she  wished ; 
she  set  out  with  the  army  at  once. 

The  news  flew  onwards.  The  inhabitants  of  Chalons 
and  of  Rheims  rose  and  turned  out  the  Burgundian  gar- 
risons. The  king's  way  to  Rheims  was  one  triumph,  and, 
amidst  the  shouts  of  the  people,  he  entered  Rheims  on  the 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  407 

16th  of  July.  The  next  day  Charles  VII  was  crowned. 
The  visions  of  the  Maid  had  been  fulfilled.  By  her  arm 
Orleans  had  been  saved,  through  her  means  the  king  stood 
there.  She  was  beside  the  king  at  the  high  altar,  with  her 
banner  displayed ;  and  when  the  service  was  over,  she  knelt 
before  him  with  streaming  eyes,  saying,  "  Gentle  king,  now 
is  done  the  pleasure  of  God,  who  willed  that  you  should 
come  to  Rheims  and  be  anointed,  showing  that  you  are  the 
true  king,  and  he  to  whom  the  kingdom  should  belong." 

All  eyes  were  upon  her  as  the  savior  of  her  country. 
She  might  have  secured  every  thing  for  herself;  but  she 
asked  no  reward,  she  was  content  to  have  done  her  duty. 
And  of  all  that  was  offered  her,  the  only  thing  she  would 
accept  was  that  Domremy  should  be  free  forever  from  any 
kind  of  tax.  So,  until  the  time  of  the  first  French  Revolu- 
tion, the  collectors  wrote  against  the  name  of  the  village,  as 
it  stood  in  their  books,  "Nothing,  for  the  Maid's  sake." 

Joan  of  Arc  said  that  her  work  was  done.  She  had 
seen  her  father  and  her  uncle  in  the  crowd,  and,  with  many 
tears,  she  begged  the  king  to  let  her  go  back  with  them, 
and  keep  her  flocks  and  herds,  and  do  all  as  she  had  been 
used  to  do.  Never  had  man  or  woman  done  so  much  with 
so  simple  a  heart.  But  the  king  and  his  advisers  knew 
her  power  over  the  people,  and  their  entreaties  that  she 
would  stay  with  them  prevailed.  So  she  let  her  father  and 
her  uncle  depart  without  her.  They  must  have  had  enough 
to  tell  when  they  reached  home. 

We  have  little  heart  to  tell  the  rest  of  the  story.  At 
length  the  king  reached  Paris,  and  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
was  away  in  Normandy.  Joan  wished  to  attack  the  city, 
and  it  was  done.  Many  of  the  soldiers  were  jealous  of  her, 
and  they  fought  only  feebly.  They  crossed  the  first  ditch 
round  the  city,  but  found  the  second  full  of  water.  Joan 


408  BRA  VE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

was  trying  its  depth  with  her  lance,  when  she  was  seriously 
wounded.  She  lay  on  the  ground  cheering  the  troops,  call- 
ing for  fagots  and  bundles  of  wood  to  fill  the  trench,  nor 
would  she  withdraw  until  the  evening,  when  the  Duke  of 
Alencon  persuaded  her  to  give  up  the  attempt,  as  it  had 
prospered  so  ill. 

Were  it  not  so  wicked  and  so  shameful,  it  might  be 
laughable  to  think  of  the  king's  idleness.  It  is  really  true 
that  he  longed  for  his  lovely  Chinon,  and  a  quiet  life,  as  a 
tired  child  longs  to  go  to  sleep.  He  made  his  misfortune 
at  Paris,  which  would  have  stirred  up  almost  any  one  else 
to  greater  exertions,  an  excuse  for  getting  away.  The 
troops  were  sent  to  winter  quarters ;  he  went  back  across 
the  Loire  now,  when  the  English  leader  was  away,  and  the 
chief  towns  in  the  north  ready  to  submit.  Had  he  but 
shown  himself  a  man,  he  might  have  gained  his  capital, 
and  the  whole  of  the  north  of  France.  The  spirit  lately 
roused  for  him  was  down  again.  It  seemed  really  not 
worth  while  to  fight  for  a  king  who  would  not  attend  to 
business  for  more  than  two  months  together. 

We  know  little  more  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  in  the 
Winter,  than  that  she  continued  with  the  army.  After  her 
defeat  at  Paris,  she  hung  her  armor  up  in  the  church  at  St. 
Denis,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  go  home.  The  entreaties 
of  the  French  leaders  prevailed  again ;  for,  though  they 
were  jealous  of  her,  and  slighted  her  on  every  occasion, 
they  knew  her  power,  and  were  glad  to  get  all  out  of  her 
that  they  could.  In  December,  Joan  and  all  her  family 
were  made  nobles  by  the  king.  They  changed  their  name 
from  Arc  to  Du  Lys,  "  Lys "  being  French  for  lily,  the 
flower  of  France,  as  the  rose  is  of  England ;  and  they  were 
given  the  lily  of  France  for  their  coat  of  arms. 

With  the  return  of  Spring   the   king's   troops   inarched 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  409 

into  the  northern  provinces.  Charles  would  not  leave 
Chinon.  The  army  was  utterly  disorderly,  and  had  no  idea 
what  to  set  about.  Joan  showed  herself  as  brave  as  ever  in 
such  fighting  as  there  was.  But,  doubting  whether  she  was 
in  her  right  place  or  her  wrong  one,  in  the  midst  of  fierce 
and  lawless  men,  nothing  pointed  out  for  her  to  do,  her 
situation  was  most  miserable.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester 
sent  out  a  proclamation  to  strengthen  the  hearts  of  the  En- 
glish troops  against  her.  The  title  was  "  against  the  feeble- 
minded captains  and  soldiers  who  are  terrified  by  the  incan- 
tations of  the  Maid." 

A  long  and  troublesome  passage  had  Joan  of  Arc  from 
this  bad  world  to  her  home  in  heaven,  where  dwelt  those 
whom  she  called  "her  brothers  of  Paradise."  Her  faith 
was  to  be  tried  in  the  fire — purified  seven  times.  All 
the  French  army  were  jealous  of  her.  The  governor 
of  the  fortress  of  Compiegne  was  cruel  and  tyrannical 
beyond  all  others,  even  in  that  age.  Compiegne  was 
beseiged  by  the  English;  Joan  threw  herself  bravely  into 
the  place.  She  arrived  there  on  the  24th  of  May,  and  that 
same  evening  she  headed  a  party  who  went  out  of  the  gates 
to  attack  the  enemy.  Twice  they  were  driven  back  by  her ; 
but,  seeing  more  coming  up,  she  made  the  sign  to  go  back. 
She  kept  herself  the  last ;  the  city  gate  was  partly  closed, 
so  that  but  few  could  pass  in  at  once.  In  the  confusion 
she  was  separated  from  her  friends;  but  she  still  fought 
bravely,  until  an  archer  from  Picardy  seized  her  and  dragged 
her  from  her  horse.  She  struggled,  but  was  obliged  to  give 
up ;  and  so  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was  taken  prisoner. 

Joan  was  first  taken  to  the  quarters  of  John  of  Luxem- 
bourg. Her  prison  was  changed  many  times,  but  the  En- 
glish were  eager  to  have  her  in  their  own  power.  In 
November  John  of  Luxemburg  sold  her  to  them  for  a  large 


410  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

sum  of  money.  When  she  was  in  his  prison  she  had  tried 
twice  to  escape.  She  could  not  try  now ;  she  was  put  in  the 
great  tower  of  the  castle  of  Rouen,  confined  between  iron 
gratings,  with  irons  upon  her  feet.  Her  guards  offered  her 
all  kinds  of  rudeness,  and  even  John  of  Luxembourg  was 
so  mean  as  to  go  and  rejoice  over  her  in  her  prison. 

It  would  have  been  a  cruel  thing  to  put  her  to  death  as 
a  prisoner  of  war;  but  those  were  dark  days,  and  such 
things  were  often  done.  The  desire  of  the  English  was  to 
hold  Joan  up  to  public  scorn  as  a  witch,  and  to  prove  that 
she  had  dealings  with  the  devil.  With  this  wicked  object, 
they  put  her  on  her  trial.  They  found  Frenchmen  ready 
enough  to  help  them.  One  Canchon,  bishop  of  Beauvais, 
even  petitioned  that  the  trial  might  be  under  his  guidance. 
He  had  his  desire;  he  was  appointed  the  first  judge,  and  a 
hundred  and  two  other  learned  Frenchmen  were  found 
ready  to  join  him. 

Before  these  false  judges  Joan  of  Arc  was  called — as 
simple  a  girl  as  she  was  when,  just  two  years  before,  she  left 
Domremy.  All  that  malice  and  rage  could  do  was  done 
against  her.  She  was  alone  before  her  enemies.  Day  after 
day  they  tried  hard  to  find  new  and  puzzling  questions  for 
her;  to  make  her  false  on  her  own  showing;  to  make  her 
deny  her  visions  or  deny  her  God.  They  could  not.  Clear- 
headed, simple-hearted,  she  had  been  always,  and  she  was 
so  still.  She  showed  the  faith  of  a  Christian,  the  patience 
of  a  saint,  in  all  her  answers.  Piety  and  wisdom  were  with 
her,  wickedneas  and  folly  with  her  enemies.  They  tried  to 
make  evil  out  of  two  things  in  particular:  her  banner,  with 
which  it  was  declared  she  worked  charms,  and  the  tree 
she  used  to  dance  around  when  she  was  a  child,  where  they 
said  she  went  to  consult  the  fairies.  Concerning  her  ban- 
ner, Joan  said  that  she  carried  it  on  purpose  to  spare  the 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  411 

sword,  so  she  might  not  kill  any  one  with  her  own  hand ; 
of  the  tree,  she  denied  that  she  knew  any  thing  about 
fairies,  or  was  acquainted  with  any  one  who  had  seen  them 
there.  She  was  tormented  with  questions  as  to  whether  the 
saints  spoke  English  when  she  saw  them,  what  they  wore, 
how  they  smelt,  whether  she  helped  the  banner  or  the  ban- 
ner her,  whether  she  was  in  mortal  sin  when  she  rode  the 
horse  belonging  to  the  bishop  of  Senlis,  whether  she  could 
commit  mortal  sin,  whether  the  saints  hated  the  English. 
Every  trap  they  could  lay  for  her  they  laid.  She  answered 
all  clearly;  when  she  had  forgotten  any  thing  she  said  so; 
her  patience  never  gave  way ;  she  was  never  confused. 
When  asked  whether  she  was  in  a  state  of  grace,  she  said : 
"  If  I  am  not,  I  pray  to  God  to  bring  me  to  it ;  and,  if  I 
am,  may  he  keep  me  in  it." 

After  all,  they  did  not  dare  condemn  her.  Try  as  they 
could,  they  could  draw  nothing  from  her  that  was  wrong. 
They  teased  her  to  give  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  the 
Church.  She  put  the  Church  in  heaven,  and  its  head, 
above  the  Church  on  earth  and  the  pope.  The  English 
were  afraid  that  after  all  she  might  escape,  and  pressed  on 
the  judgment.  The  lawyers  at  Rouen  would  say  nothing, 
neither  would  the  chapter.  The  only  way  to  take  was  to 
send  the  report  of  the  trial  to  the  University  of  Paris,  and 
wait  the  answer. 

On  the  19th  of  May  arrived  the  answer  from  Paris.  It 
was  this:  that  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was  either  a  liar  or  in  al- 
liance with  Satan  and  with  Behemoth ;  that  she  was  given 
to  superstition,  most  likely  an  idolater ;  that  she  lowered  the 
angels,  and  vainly  boasted  and  exalted  herself;  that  she  was 
a  blasphemer  and  a  traitor  thirsting  for  blood,  a  heretic  and 
an  apostate.  Yet  they  would  not  burn  her  at  once;  they 
would  first  disgrace  her  in  the  eyes  of  people.  This  was 


412  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

done  on  the  23d  of  May.  A  scaffold  was  put  up  behind  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  Onen ;  here  in  solemn  state  sat  the  cardinal 
of  Winchester,  two  judges,  and  thirty-three  helpers.  On 
another  scaffold  was  Joan  of  Arc,  in  the  midst  of  guards, 
notaries  to  take  reports,  and  the  most  famous  preacher  of 
France  to  admonish  her.  Below  was  seen  the  rack  upon 
a  cart. 

The  preacher  began  his  discourse.  Joan  let  him  speak 
against  herself,  but  she  stopped  him  when  he  spoke  against 
the  king,  that  king  for  whom  she  had  risked  every  thing, 
but  who  was  dreaming  at  Chinon,  and  had  not  stretched  out 
a  finger  to  save  her.  Their  labor  was  nearly  lost ;  her  ene- 
mies became  furious.  Persuading  was  of  no  use ;  she  refused 
to  go  back  from  any  thing  she  had  said  or  done.  Her  in- 
stant death  was  threatened  if  she  continued  obstinate,  but 
if  she  would  recant  she  was  promised  deliverance  from  the 
English.  "I  will  sign,"  she  said  at  last.  The  cardinal  drew 
a  paper  from  his  sleeve  with  a  short  denial.  She  put  her 
mark  to  it.  They  kept  their  promise  of  mercy  by  passing 
this  sentence  upon  her :  "Joan,  we  condemn  you,  through  our 
grace  and  moderation,  to  pass  the  rest  of  your  days  in  prison, 
to  eat  the  bread  of  grief  and  drink  the  water  of  anguish,  and 
to  bewail  your  sins." 

When  she  went  back  to  prison  there  was  published 
through  Rouen,  not  the  short  denial  she  had  signed,  but  one 
six  pages  long. 

Joan  was  taken  back  to  the  prison  from  whence  she  came. 
The  next  few  days  were  the  darkest  and  saddest  of  all  her 
life,  yet  they  were  the  darkest  before  the  dawn.  She  had,  in 
the  paper  which  she  had  signed,  promised  to  wear  a  woman's 
dress  again,  and  she  did  so.  Her  enemies  had  now  a  sure 
hold  on  her.  They  could  make  her  break  her  own  oath.  In 
the  night  her  woman's  dress  was  taken  away,  and  man's 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  413 

clothes  put  in  their  place.  She  had  no  choice  in  the  morn- 
ing what  to  do. 

As  soon  as  it  was  day  Canchon  and  the  rest  made  haste 
to  the  prison  to  see  the  success  of  their  plot.  Canchon 
laughed,  and  said,  "She  is  taken."  No  more  hope  for  her 
on  earth ;  no  friend  with  her,  save  that  in  the  fiery  furnace 
was  "  One  like  unto  the  Son  of  God." 

Brought  before  her  judges,  Joan  only  said  why  she  had 
put  on  her  old  dress.  They  could  not  hide  their  delight,  and 
joked  and  laughed  among  themselves.  God  sent  her  hope 
and  comfort ;  she  knew  that  the  time  of  her  deliverance  was 
near.  She  was  to  be  set  free  by  fire.  They  appointed  the 
day  after  the  morrow  for  her  burning.  But  a  few  hours' 
notice  was  given  her.  She  wept  when  she  heard  that  she 
was  to  be  burnt  alive,  but  after  awhile  she  exclaimed :  "  I 
shall  be  to-night  in  Paradise!" 

Eight  hundred  Englishmen  conducted  her  to  the  market- 
place !  On  her  way,  the  wretched  priest  L'Oiseleur  threw 
himself  on  the  ground  before  her,  and  begged  her  to  forgive 
him.  Three  scaffolds  had  been  set  up.  On  one  sat  the  car- 
dinal with  all  his  train.  Joan  and  her  enemies  were  on 
another.  The  third,  a  great,  towering  pile,  built  up  so  high 
that  what  happened  on  it  should  be  in  the  sight  of  all  the 
town,  had  upon  it  the  stake  to  which  she  was  to  be  tied. 
Canchon  began  to  preach  to  her.  Her  faith  never  wavered ; 
her  Saviour,  her  best  friend,  was  with  her.  To  him  she 
prayed  aloud  before  the  gathered  multitude.  She  declared 
that  she  forgave  her  enemies,  and  begged  her  friends  to  pray 
for  her.  Even  Canchon  and  the  cardinal  shed  tears.  But 
they  hastened  to  dry  their  eyes,  and  read  the  condemnation. 
All  the  false  charges  were  named,  and  she  was  given  over  to 
death. 

They  put  her  on  the  scaffold  and  bound  her  fast  to  the 


414  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

stake.  Looking  round  on  the  crowd  of  her  countrymen, 
who  stood  looking  over,  she  exclaimed:  "O  Rouen!  I  fear 
thou  wilt  suffer  for  my  death  !  "  A  miter  was  placed  on  her 
head,  with  the  words:  "Relapsed  Heretic,  Apostate,  Idol- 
ater." Canchon  drew  near,  to  listen  whether  even  now  she 
would  not  say  something  to  condemn  herself.  Her  only 
words  were,  "  Bishop,  I  die  through  your  means."  Of  the 
worthless  king  she  said  :  "  That  which  I  have  well  or  ill  done 
I  did  it  of  myself;  the  king  did  not  advise  me."  These  were 
her  last  words  about  earthly  matters.  The  flames  burnt  from 
the  foot  of  the  pile,  but  the  monk  who  held  the  cross  before 
her  did  not  move.  He  heard  her  from  the  midst  of  the  fire 
call  upon  her  Saviour.  Soon  she  bowed  her  head  and  cried 
aloud  "Jesus!"  And  she  went  to  be  with  him  forever. 

We  have  little  to  add  of  the  character  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans.  She  was  simple  amid  triumph  and  splendor;  un- 
selfish, when  she  might  have  had  whatever  she  had  asked  ; 
humane  and  gentle,  even  on  the  battlefield ;  patient  in  the 
midst  of  the  greatest  provocation;  brave  in  the  midst  of 
suffering;  firm  in  faith  and  hope  when  all  beside  were  cast 
down ;  blameless  and  holy  in  her  life,  when  all  beside  were 
wicked  and  corrupt. 

The  English  never  recovered  from  the  blow  struck  by 
the  Maid.  Their  power  in  France  gradually  weakened.  In 
1435  peace  was  made  between  Charles  VII  and  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy.  One  by  one  the  ill-gotten  gains  were  given 
up,  and  the  English  king  lost  even  the  French  provinces 
he  inherited.  In  the  year  1451  the  only  English  possession 
in  France  was  the  town  of  Calais.  This,  too,  was  lost  about 
a  hundred  years  after,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Mary.  Yet 
the  kings  of  England  kept  the  empty  title  of  kings  of 
France,  and  put  the  lilies  of  France  in  their  coat  off  arms 
until  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  George  III. 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  415 

The  last  incident  in  the  strange  story  of  Joan  of  Arc 
remains  to  be  told.  Ten  years  after  her  execution,  to  the 
amazement  of  all  who  knew  him,  Charles  VII  suddenly 
shook  off  his  idleness  and  blazed  forth  a  wise  king,  an  en- 
ergetic ruler.  Probably  in  this,  his  better  state  of  mind,  he 
thought  with  shame  and  sorrow  of  Joan  of  Arc.  In  the 
year  1456  he  ordered  a  fresh  inquiry  to  be  made.  At  this 
every  one  was  examined  who  had  known  or  seen  her  at  any 
period  of  her  short  life.  The  judgment  passed  on  her  be- 
fore was  contradicted,  and  she  was  declared  a  good  and  in- 
nocent woman.  They  would  have  given  the  whole  world 
then  to  have  had  her  back  and  to  have  made  amends  to  her 
for  their  foul  injustice.  But  the  opinions  of  men  no  longer 
mattered  to  her.  The  twenty-five  years  since  she  had  been 
burnt  at  Rouen  had  been  the  first  twenty-five  of  her  un- 
counted eternity  of  joy. 

"  The  righteous  perisheth,  and  no  man  layeth  it  to  heart  • 
and  merciful  men  are  taken  away,  none  considering  that  the 
righteous  is  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come." 


MANY  PHASES  AND  MANY  EXAMPLES. 


/V\USIG. 

every  leaf  and  flower 
The  pulse  of  music  beats, 
And  works  the  changes  hour  by  hour, 
In  those  divine  retreats. 

Alike  in  star  and  clod 
One  melody  resides, 
Which  is  the  working  will  of  God, 
Beyond  all  power  besides. 

It  is  by  angels  heard, 

By  all  of  lower  birth, 

The  silent  music  of  the  Word 

Who  works  in  heaven  and  earth. 

For  music  order  is 
To  which  all  work  belongs, 
And  in  this  wondrous  world  of  His 
Work  is  the  song  of  songs. 


Bitfips  Wooers. 

The  Father  hitherto, 
And  his  Eternal  Son 
Work,  work,  and  still  have  work  to  do 
With  each  successive  sun. 

416 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  417 

O  bow  the  heart  in  awe, 
And  work  as  with  the  Lord, 
Who,  with  his  everlasting  law, 
Works  on  in  sweet  accord. 

Work  is  the  law  of  love 
Which  rules  the  world  below, 
Which  rules  the  brighter  world  above, 
Through  which,  like  God,  we  grow. 

And  this  and  every  day 
The  work  of  love  is  rest 
In  which  our  sorrows  steal  away, 
Which  cares  may  not  infest. 


Tbe  Will  of  God. 

With  heart  as  strong  as  fate, 
Brave  worker,  girt  and  shod, 
Adore !  and  know  that  naught  is  great 
Except  the  will  of  God. 

O  sweet,  sweet  light  of  day, 
Through  which  such  wonders  run, 
Thou  ownest,  in  thy  glorious  sway, 
Allegiance  to  the  sun. 

And  thou,  O  human  will, 
As  wondrous  as  the  light, 
Cans't  thou  thy  little  trust  fulfill 
Save  through  Another's  might? 

With  heart  to  conquer  fate, 
Brave  worker,  girt  and  shod, 
Work  on !  and  know  that  he  is  great 
Who  does  the  will  of  God. 

27 


418  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


esh 

To  labor  is  to  pray, 
As  some  dear  saint  has  said, 
And  with  this  truth  for  many  a  day 
Have  I  been  comforted. 

The  Lord  has  made  me  bold 
When  I  have  labored  most, 
And  with  his  gifts  so  manifold, 
Has  given  the  Holy  Ghost. 

When  I  have  idle  been 
•     Until  the  sun  went  down, 
Mine  eyes,  so  dim,  have  never  seen 
His  bright,  prophetic  crown. 

O,  praise  the  Lord  for  work 
Which  maketh  time  so  fleet, 
In  which  accusers  never  lurk, 
Whose  end  is  very  sweet. 


Bipds    o^   Grace. 

0  little  birds  of  grace, 
To-day  ye  sweetly  sing, 

Yea,  make  my  heart  your  nesting-place, 
And  all  your  gladness  bring. 

When  ye  are  in  my  heart, 
How  swiftly  pass  the  days ! 
The  fears  and  doubts  of  life  depart, 
And  leave  their  room  to  praise. 

My  work  I  find  as  play, 
And  all  day  long  rejoice ; 
But,  if  I  linger  on  my  way, 

1  hear  this  warning  voice: 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  419 

With  fervor  work  and  pray, 
And  let  not  coldness  come, 
Or  birds  of  grace  will  fly  away 
To  seek  a  warmer  home. 


O  work  that  Duty  shows 
Through  her  revealing  light! 
It  is  in  thee  my  bosom  glows 
With  infinite  delight ! 

The  shadows  flee  away 
Like  mist  before  the  sun ; 
And  thy  achievement  seems  to  say, 
The  will  of  God  is  done! 

Ah,  what  if  Duty  seem 
A  mistress  cold  and  stern ! 
Can  he  who  owns  her  rule  supreme 
From  her  caresses  turn? 

O  work  that  Duty  shows 
In  light  so  fair  and  clear, 
Whoever  thy  completion  knows 
Is  'minded  heaven  is  near! 


\OSGS. 


In  Pharaoh's  dazzling  court 
No  work  did  Moses  find 
That  could  heroic  life  support 
And  fill  his  heart  and  mind. 


420  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Beneath  their  grievous  task 
Did  not  his  kindred  groan? 
And  a  great  voice  above  him  ask, 
"Dost  thou  thy  brethren  own?" 

The  work  which  Duty  meant 
At  length  he  found  and  did, 
And  built  a  grander  monument 
Than  any  pyramid. 

Sometimes  his  eyes  were  dim, 
All  signs  he  could  not  spell; 
Yet  he  endured  as  seeing  Him 
Who  is  invisible. 


In  search  of  greener  shores 
The  Northmen  braved  the  seas 
And  reached,  those  faith-illumined  rowers, 
Our  dear  Hesperides. 

And  when  Oblivion 
Swept  all  their  work  away, 
And  left  for  faith  to  feed  upon 
But  shadows  lean  and  gray, 

Columbus  dreamed  the  dream 
Which  fired  a  southern  clime 
And  hailed  a  world — O  toil  supreme! — 
As  from  the  womb  of  Time. 

God's  dauntless  witnesses 
For  toil  invincible, 
They  gazed  across  uncharted  seas 
On  the  invisible. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  421 

God's  ©rdep. 

In  gazing  into  heaven 
In  idle  ecstacy, 

What  progress  make  ye  to  the  haven 
Where  ye  at  length  would  be? 

In  heaven-appointed  work 
The  sure  ascension  lies. 
O,  never  yet  did  drone  or  shirk 
Make  headway  to  the  skies. 

Who  in  his  heart  rebels 
Has  never  ears  to  hear 
The  morning  and  the  evening  bells 
On  yonder  shores  so  clear. 

For  work  communion  is 
With  God's  one  order  here, 
And  all  the  secret  melodies 

Which  fill  our  lives  with  cheer. 


David, 

In  action  day  by  day 
King  David's  manhood  grew, 
A  character  to  live  for  aye, 
It  was  so  strong  and  true. 

Hordes  of  misrule  became 
As  stubble  to  the  fire, 
Till  songs  of  praise  like  leaping  flame 
Burst  from  his  sacred  lyre. 

He  grappled  with  all  rude 
And  unpropitious  things: 
A  garden  from  the  solitude 

Smiled  to  the  King  of  kings. 


422  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

And  fiercer  yet  the  strife 

With  mighty  foes  within, 

Who  stormed  the  fortress  of  his  life 

And  triumphed  in  his  sin. 


Good  oub  oF  E</i I. 

True  David  halted  not 
When  sin  had  cast  him  down, 
Upon  his  royal  life  a  blot, 

Death  reaching  for  his  crown, 

His  work  was  but  half  done ; 
A  man  of  action  still, 
He  struggled  in  the  gloaming  sun 
To  do  his  Maker's  will ; 

Till  in  the  golden  light 
Great  words  began  to  shine : 
In  sorrow  is  exalting  might, 
Repentance  is  divine. 

And  now  the  shepherd  king 
We  count  the  human  sire 
Of  One  who  turns  our  hungering 
Into  achieved  desire. 


Elijalp. 

Elijah,  through  the  night 
Which  shrouded  Israel 
In  toiling,  groping  for  the  light, 
Foretold  Immanuel. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  423 

And  in  heroic  trust 
That  night  would  yield  to  day — 
His  imperfections  thick  as  dust 
Along  the  desert  way; 

His  bold,  rebuking  cry 
Heard  in  the  wilderness, 
Till  from  the  chariot  of  the  sky 
His  mantle  fell  to  bless — 

The  stern,  half-savage  seer 
Became  a  prophecy 
Of  gladness  and  the  Golden  Year, 
In  all  high  minstrelsy. 


2elemaG^us  bjpc  ^Aon!^ 

How  well  he  wrought  who  stood 
Against  an  ancient  wrong, 
And  left  the  spangles  of  his  blood 
To  light  the  sky  of  songl 

A  gladiatorial  show, 
And  eighty  thousand  men 
For  savage  pastime  all  aglow — 
O  marvel  there  and  then ! 

An  unknown  monk,  his  life 
Defenseless,  interposed, 
Forbade  the  old  barbaric  strife — 
The  red  arena  closed! 

That  unrecovered  rout! 
Those  fire-shafts  from  the  Sun ! 
O  Telemaque!  who,  who  shall  doubt 
Thy  Master's  will  was  done? 


424  BRAVE  MEN  AND   WOMEN. 

Washington. 

The  deeds  of  Washington 
Were  lit  with  patriot  flame ; 
A  crown  for  Liberty  he  won, 
And  won  undying  fame. 

He  heard  his  country's  cry, 
He  heard  her  bugle-call, 
T  was  sweet  to  live  for  her,  or  die; 
Her  cause  was  all  in  all. 

He  heard  the  psalm  of  peace, 
He  sought  again  the  plow; 
O  civic  toil,  carist  thou  increase 
The  laurels  for  his  brow  ? 

As  with  a  father's  hand 
He  led  the  infant  state ; 
Colossus  of  his  native  land, 
He  still  is  growing  great. 


Lincoln. 

God  placed  on  Lincoln's  brow 
A  sad,  majestic  crown  ; 
All  enmity  is  friendship  now, 
And  martyrdom  renown. 

A  mighty-hearted  man, 
He  toiled  at  Freedom's  side, 
And  lived,  as  only  heroes  can, 
The  truth  in  which  he  died. 

Like  Moses,  eyes  so  dun, 
All  signs  he  could  not  spell ; 
Yet  he  endured,  as  seeing  Him 
Who  is  invisible. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  425 

His  life  was  under  One 
"  Who  made  and  loveth  all;" 
And  when  his  mighty  work  was  done, 
How  grand  his  coronal ! 


Gappeld. 

Of  Garfield's  finished  days, 
So  fair  and  all  too  few, 
Destruction,  which  at  noon-day  strays, 
Could  not  the  work  undo. 

0  martyr  prostrate,  calm, 

1  learn  anew  that  pain 
Achieves,  as  God's  subduing  psalm, 

What  else  were  all  in  vain ! 

Like  Samson  in  his  death, 

With  mightiest  labor  rife, 

The  moments  of  thy  halting  breath 

Were  grandest  of  thy  life. 

And  now,  amid  the  gloom 
Which  pierces  mortal  ^ears, 
There  shines  a  star  above  thy  tomb 
To  smile  away  our  tears. 


°°    NBar- 

O  workers  brave  and  true, 
Whose  lives  are  full  of  song, 
I  dare  not  take  too  near  a  view, 
Lest  I  should  do  you  wrong. 


426  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

I  only  look  to  see 
The  marks  of  sacrifice, 
The  heraldry  of  sympathy, 
Which  can  alone  suffice. 

For  nothing  else  is  great, 
However  proudly  won, 
Or  has  the  light  to  indicate 
The  will  of  God  is  done. 

Ah,  who  would  judge  what  fire 
Will  surely  burn  away! 
And  ask  not,  What  doth  God  require 
At  the  Eternal  Day? 


'    yacl^son. 

God  somehow  owns  the  creeds 
That  seem    so  much  amiss, 
What  time  they  bear  heroic  deeds 
Above  analysis. 

How,  in  his  burning  zeal, 
Did  Stonewall  breast  his  fate, 
Converted  to  his  country's  weal 
With  fame  beyond  debate! 

Sincere  and  strong  of  heart, 
In  very  truth  he  thought 
His  ensign  signaled  duty's  part ; 
And  as  he  thought  he  fought. 

And  truth  baptized  in  blood, 
As  many  a  time  before, 
Gave  honor  to  his  soldierhood, 

Though  trailed  the  flag  he  bore. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  427 

Wopl<  1bs  ©Wp  Rc^apd. 

O  worker  with  the  Lord, 
To  crown  thee  with  success, 
Believe  thy  work  its  own  reward, 
Let  self  be  less  and  less. 

In  all  things  be  sincere, 
Afraid  not  of  the  light, 
A  prophet  of  the  Golden  Year 
In  simply  doing  right. 

And  be  content  to  serve, 
A  little  one  of  God, 
In  loyalty  without  reserve, 
A  hero  armored,  shod. 

Or  this  dear  life  of  thine, 
Of  every  charm  bereft, 
"Will  crumble  in  the  fire  divine, 
Naught,  naught  but  ashes  left. 


apd   jnepe. 

O  not  to-morrow  or  afar, 
Thy  work  is  now  and  here ; 
Thy  bosom  holds  the  fairest  star — 
Dost  see  it  shining  clear  ? 

The  nearest  things  are  great, 
Remotest  very  small, 
To  him  with  eyes  to  penetrate 
The  silent  coronal. 

So  deep  the  basis  lies 
Of  life's  great  pyramid, 
That  out  of  reach  of  common  eyes 
Prophetic  work  is  hid. 


428  BRA  YE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

His  reign  for  which  we  pray, 
His  kingdom  undented, 
Whose  scepter  shall  not  pass  away, 
Is  in  a  little  child. 


P  Libtl0  Gbild. 

Come  hither,  little  child, 
And  bring  thy  heart  to  me; 
Thou  art  the  true  and  unbeguiled, 
So  full  of  melody. 

The  presence  of  a  child 
Has  taught  me  more  of  heaven, 
And  more  my  heart  has  reconciled 
Than  Greece's  immortal  Seven. 

For  when  I  sometimes  think 
That  life  is  void  of  song, 
Before  a  little  child  I  sink 

And  own  that  I  am  wrong. 

And  lo  my  heart  grows  bright 
That  was  so  dark  and  drear, 
Till  in  the  tender  morning  light 
I  find  the  Lord  is  near. 


Iflpe  Bitfipe  PpesepGQ, 

O,  when  the  Lord  is  near, 
The  rainbow  banners  wave; 
The  star  I  follow  shineth  clear, 
I  am  no  more  a  slave. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  429 

As  if  to  honor  Him, 
My  work  is  true  and  free ; 
And  flowing  to  the  shining  brim, 
The  cup  of  heaven  I  see. 

I  marvel  not  that  song 
Should  be  employment  there 
In  which  the  innumerable  throng 
Their  palms  of  triumph  bear; 

Or  that  the  choral  strife 
And  golden  harps  express 
The  stirring  labors  of  the  life 
Of  peace  and  righteousness. 


BeaBj  ip  Life. 

The  song  of  work,  I  know, 
Has  here  its  minor  tone; 
And  in  its  ever-changing  flow, 
Death,  death  in  life  is  known. 

Discordant  notes,  alas ! 
So  often  cleave  the  air 
And  smite  the  music  as  they  pass, 
And  leave  their  poison  there. 

And  oft,  ah  me!  from  some 
"Wild  region  of  the  heart 
Will  startling  intimations  come, 
And  peace  at  once  depart. 

With  open  foes  without, 
And  secret  foes  within, 
His  heart  must  needs  be  brave  and  stout 
That  would  life's  battle  win. 


430  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Etil 

In  the  great  wilderness 
Through  which  I  hold  my  way, 
Is  there  no  refuge  from  distress, 
Where  foes  are  kept  at  bay  ? 

Saint  Anthony  of  old 
Could  not  from  evil  flee; 
The  desert  cave  was  found  to  hold 
His  mortal  enemy. 

And  knew  untiring  Paul 
The  world's  relentless  scorn; 
While  in  his  flesh,  amid  it  all, 
He  bore  another  thorn. 

Our  common  lot  is  cast 
In  a  great  camp  of  pain! 
Until  the  night  be  over-past, 
Some  foe  will  yet  remain. 


Wiblp  pis  [?oes. 

The  king  of  beasts  was  dead — 
By  an  old  hero  slain; 
Did  dreams  of  honey  for  his  bread 
Dance  through  the  hero's  brain? 

Or  did  he  chafe  at  this : 
That  pain  is  everywhere  ? 
Down,  down,  thou  fabled  right  to  bliss, 
Life  is  to  do  and  bear ! 

Beguiled,  enslaved,  made  blind, 
Yet  unsubdued  in  will, 
He  kept  the  old  heroic  mind 
To  serve  his  country  still. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  431 

And  in  recovered  might 
Pulled  the  tall  pillars  down, 
Died  with  his  foes — that  was  his  right — 
And  built  his  great  renown. 


pis  [?oes. 

Devotion  all  supreme 
Throbs  in  the  mighty  psalm 
Of  One  who  filled  our  highest  dream 
And  poured  His  healing  balm; 

Who  worlds  inherited 
And  yet  renounced  them  all; 
Who  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head 
And  drank  the  cup  of  gall ; 

Who  emptied  of  His  power 
Became  the  foremost  man — 
Calm  at  the  great  prophetic  hour 

Through  which  God's  purpose  ran; 

Who  in  the  darkest  fight 
Imagination  knows, 
Saluted  Thee,  Eternal  Light, 
And  died  us  for  His  foes. 


iflp 

The  Master  many  a  day 
In  pain  and  darkness  wrought : 
Through  death  to  life  He  held  His  way, 
All  lands  the  glory  caught. 


432  BRAVE  MEN  AND    WOMEN. 

And  He  unlocked  the  gain 
Shut  up  in  grievous  loss, 
And  made  the  stairs  to  heaven  as  plain 
As  His  uplifted  cross — 

The  stairs  of  pain  and  woe 
In  all  the  work  on  earth, 
Up  which  the  patient  toilers  go 
To  their  eternal  birth. 

0  Master,  Master  mine, 

1  read  the  legend  now, 
To  work  and  suffer  is  divine, 

All  radiant  on  Thy  brow. 


Life   in 

Strong  children  of  decay, 
Ye  live  by  perishing: 
To-morrow  thrives  on  dead  to-day, 
And  joy  on  suffering.  • 

The  labor  of  your  hearts, 
Like  that  of  brain  and  hands, 
Shall  be  for  gain  in  other  marts, 
For  bread  in  other  lands. 

And  will  ye  now  despond 
Amid  consuming  toil, 
When  there  is  hope  and  joy  beyond 
Which  death  can  not  despoil? 

Herein  all  comfort  is: 

In  usefulness  and  zeal, 

The  Lord  announces  who  are  Sis 

And  gives  eternal  weal. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  433 


Through  stern  aud  ruthless  years 
Beyond  the  ken  of  man, 
All  filled  with  ruin,  pain,  and  tears, 
Has  God  worked  out  His  plan. 

Change  on  the  heels  of  change, 
Like  blood-hounds  in  the  chase, 
Has  swept  the  earth  in  tireless  range, 
Spangled  with  heavenly  grace. 

At  last  the  mystery 
Of  the  great  Cross  of  Christ, 
Red  with  a  world-wide  agony, 
The  God-Man  sacrificed; 

And  from  the  Sacrifice 
The  seven  great  notes  of  Peace, 
Which  pierce  the  clouds  beneath  all  skies 
Till  pain  and  sorrow  cease. 


?   gfcrisb 

Into  the  surging  world, 
Upon  thy  lips  His  word, 
And  in  thy  hand  His  flag  unfurled, 
Go,  soldier  of  the  Lord; 

Like  Him  who  came  from  far 
To  toil  for  our  release, 
Aud  framed  the  startling  notes  of  war 
Out  of  the  psalm  of  peace. 

And  all  the  recompense 
Which  thou  wilt  ever  need, 
Shall  kindle  in  the  throbbing  sense 
Of  this  life-laden  creed : 
28 


434  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Grace  has  for  him  sufficed 
Who  has  St.  Michael's  heart, 
The  fullness  of  the  mind  of  Christ, 
To  do  a  hero's  part. 


Sympabhy. 

The  Master  we  revere, 
Who  bled  on  Calvary, 
To  fill  us  with  heroic  cheer, 
Abides  eternally. 

From  His  ascended  heights 
Above. the  pain  and  ruth, 
To  all  His  servants  He  delights 
To  come  in  grace  and  truth. 

His  presence  is  so  dear, 
His  face  so  brave  and  fair, 
That  all  our  heavy  burdens  here 
He  somehow  seems  to  share. 

Copartner  in  our  work, 
He  every  pain  beguiles; 
How  can  the  fear  of  failure  lurk 
In  that  on  which  He  smiles ! 


liotfc    for  Lotfe, 

Master,  for  Thy  dear  sake 
I  bear  my  anguish  now, 
And  in  Thy  blessed  cross  partake 
Whose  sign  is  on  my  brow. 

For  Thy  dear  sake  I  toil 
Who  didst  so  toil  for  me ; 
O  more  than  balm,  or  wine,  or  oil, 
The  cheer  that  comes  from  Thee. 


THE  SONG  OF  WORK.  435 

For  Thy  dear  sake  I  live 
A  servant  unto  all, 
And  know  that  Thou  wilt  surely  give 
Thyself  as  coronal. 

For  Thy  dear  sake  I  watch 
And  keep  my  flag  unfurled, 
Until  her  golden  gleam  I  catch, 
Sweet  evening  of  the  world. 


Gonelusion. 

True  worker  with  the  Lord, 
He  labors  not  for  hire; 
Co-partner  in  the  sure  reward, 
What  can  he  more  desire? 

Sometimes  his  eyes  are  dim, 
All  signs  he  can  not  spell ; 
Yet  he  endures  as  seeing  Hun 
Who  is  invisible. 

The  work  he  ought  is  bliss, 
The  highest  thing  to  crave ; 
And  all  his  life  is  found  in  this 
Memorial  for  his  grave : 

A  worker  with  the  Lord, 

He  sought  no  other  name, 

And  found  therein  enough  reward, 

Ewugh,  enough  ojfaine. 


XLVI. 

-8. 


CROSSING   THE    NUBIAN    DESERT. 


HIS  gentleman,  a  member  of  the  American  Geo- 
graphical Society,  has    furnished,  in  the  columns 
of   The  Sunday  Magazine,  the  following  picture 
of  his   experience   in    crossing   the  most  perilous 
of  the  African  deserts  : 

Those  who  have  not  actually  undergone  the  hardships 
of  African  travel  almost  always  believe  that  the  most  dan- 
gerous desert  routes  are  found  in  the  Great  Sahara.  Such 
is  not  the  fact.  The  currency  given  to  this  popular  delu- 
sion is  doubtless  due  to  the  immensity  of  the  arid  waste 
extending  from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Soudan,  and  which 
is  deceptive  in  its  imagined  dangers  because  of  its  large 
area.  All  travelers  who  have  made  the  transit  of  the  Nu- 
bian Desert  from  Korosko,  situated  between  the  First  and 
Second  Cataracts,  southward  across  the  burning  sands  of  the 
Nubian  Desert,  a  distance  of  425  miles,  concur  in  the  state- 
ment that  it  is  an  undertaking  unmatched  in  its  severity 
and  rigors  by  any  like  journey  over  the  treeless  and  shrub- 
less  spaces  of  the  earth.  "  The  Flight  of  a  Tartar  Tribe," 
'as  told  by  De  Quincey,  in  his  matchless  descriptive  style, 
carrying  his  readers  with  him  through  scenes  of  almost  un- 
paralleled warfare,  privation,  and  cruelty,  until  the  remnant 
of  the  Asiatic  band  stands  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
Chinese  Wall  to  receive  the  welcome  of  their  deliverer,  but 
imperfectly  portrays  the  physical  suffering  that  must  be  en- 
dured in  the  solitude  of  the  most  dangerous  of  African 
deserts.  Let  me,  therefore,  briefly  record  my  life  in  the 
436 


AL  VAN  S.  SO  UTH WOR TH.  437 

Nubian  Desert,  at  a  time  when  I  was  filled  with  the  hopes 
and  ambitions  which  led  Bruce,  in  the  last  century,  to  the 
fountains  of  the  Blue  Nile,  and  but  a  few  years  since  guided 
Speke  and  Grant,  Sir ,  Samuel  Baker,  and  Stanley  to  the 
great  basin  of  the  major  river,  and  determined  the  general 
geography  of  the  equatorial  regions. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  January,  after  a  pleasant  jour- 
ney up  the  Nile  from  Lower  Egypt,  on  board  a  luxuriously 
fitted  up  "  dahabeah,"  that  I  arrived  at  Korosko,  a  Nubian 
village  about  a  thousand  miles  from  the  Mediterranean. 
The  ascent  of  the  Nile  was  simply  a  prolonged  feast  in  this 
comfortable  sailing-craft,  with  the  panorama  of  imposing 
temples  and  gigantic  ruins  relieving  the  dreary  monotony 
of  the  river-banks.  The  valley  of  this  ancient  stream,  from 
the  First  Cataract,  where  it  ceases  to  be  navigable,  to  Cairo, 
is  remarkable  alone  to  the  traveler  for  its  vast  structures 
and  mausoleums.  The  sikeahs  and  shadofs,  which  are  em- 
ployed to  raise  water  from  the  river,  in  order  that  it  may 
be  used  for  irrigation,  suggest  that  no  improvement  has  been 
made  in  Egyptian  farming  for  four  thousand  years.  But 
the  smoke  curling  away  from  tall  chimneys,  and  the  noise 
of  busy  machinery  in  the  midst  of  extensive  fields  of  sugar- 
cane, remind  us  that  Egypt  has  become  one  of  the  greatest 
sugar-producing  powers  of  the  East.  From  the  site  of 
ancient  Memphis  to  Korosko,  comprising  about  six  degrees 
of  latitude,  the  soil  under  cultivation  rarely  extends  beyond 
the  distance  of  a  mile  into*  the  interior,  while  to  eastward 
and  westward  is  one  vast,  uninhabited  waste,  the  camping- 
ground  of  the  Bedouins,  who  roam  from  river  to  sea  in 
predatory  bands,  leading  otherwise  aimless  lives.  Thinly 
populated,  and  now  without  the  means  of  subsisting  large 
communities,  Upper  Egypt  can  never  become  what  it  was 
when,  as  we  are  taught,  the  walls  of  Thebes  inclosed  4,000,- 


438  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

000  of  people,  and  the  Nile  was  bridged  from  shore  to  shore. 
Turning  from  this  strange  land,  I  encamped  on  the  border 
of  the  Nubian  Desert,  and  prepared  to  set  out  on  camel- 
back  toward  the  sources  of  the  Nile. 

In  conjunction  with  the  local  officials  I  began  the  neces- 
sary preparations,  which  involved  the  selection  of  forty-two 
camels,  three  donkeys,  and  nineteen  servants.  My  ample 
provision  and  preparation  consisted  of  the  camels'  feed — 
durah  and  barley,  stowed  in  plaited  saddle-bags ;  filling  the 
goatskins  with  water,  each  containing  an  average  of  five 
gallons.  Eighty  were  required  for  the  journey.  Three 
sheep,  a  coup-full  of  chickens,  a  desert  range,  a  wall-tent, 
with  the  other  supplies,  made  up  over  10,000  pounds  of  bag- 
gage as  our  caravan,  entering  the  northern  door  of  the 
barren  and  dreary  steppe,  felt  its  way  through  a  deep  ravine 
paved  with  boulders,  shifting  sands,  and  dead  camels.  We 
soon  left  the  bluffs  and  crags  which  form  the  barrier  between 
the  Nile  and  the  desolate  land  beyond,  and  then  indeed  the 
real  journey  began. 

Our  camp  apparatus  was  quite  simple,  consisting  of  a 
few  plates,  knives  and  forks,  blankets  and  rugs,  a  kitchen- 
tent,  and  a  pine  table ;  and  this  outfit  formed  the  nucleus 
of  our  nomadic  village,  not  omitting  the  rough  cooking- 
utensils.  I  recall  now  one  of  these  strange  scenes  in  that 
distant  region,  under  the  cloudless  sky,  beneath  the  Southern 
Cross.  A  few  feet  distant  from  my  canvas  chateau  was  my 
aged  Arab  cook,  manipulating  ms  coals,  his  tongs,  and  pre- 
paring the  hissing  mutton,  the  savory  pigeons  and  potatoes. 
The  cook  is  the  most  popular  man  on  such  an  expedition, 
and  is  neither  to  be  coaxed  nor  driven.  The  baggage- 
camels  were  disposed  upon  the  ground,  a  few  yards  distant, 
eating  their  grain  and  uttering  those  loud,  yelping,  be- 
seeching sounds — a  compound  of  an  elephant's  trumpet 


ALVAN  S.  SOUTHWORTH.  439 

and  a  lion's  roar — which  were  taken  up,  repeated  by  the 
chorus,  and  re-echoed  by  the  hills.  These  patient  animals, 
denuded  of  their  loads  and  water,  the  latter  having  been 
corded  in  mats,  became  quiet  only  with  sleep.  Add  to  these 
scenes  and  uproar  the  deafening  volubility  of  twenty  Arabs 
and  Nubians,  each  shouting  within  the  true  barbaric  key, 
the  seven-eighths  nudity  of  the  blacks,  the  elaborate  and 
flashing  wear  of  the  upper  servants,  and  the  small  asperities 
of  this  my  menial  world — all  of  these  with  a  refreshing 
breeze,  a  clear  atmosphere,  the  air  laden  with  ozone  and 
electric  life,  the  sky  inviting  the  serenest  contemplation, 
with  the  great  moon  thrice  magnified  as  it  rose,  and  I 
recall  an  evening  when  I  was  supremely  content. 

Piloted  by  the  carcasses  of  decayed  camels,  we  took  up 
our  route  in  the  morning,  led  by  our  guide,  and  soon 
emerged  on  the  sublimest  scenery  of  the  desert.  Our  line 
of  travel  lay  through  the  center  of  grand  elliptical  amphi- 
theaters, which  called  to  mind  the  Coliseum  at  Rome  and  the 
exhumed  arena  at  Pompeii.  These  eroded  structures)  wrought 
by  the  hand  of  nature  at  some  remote  period,  were  floored 
over  by  hard,  gravelly  sand,  inclosed  by  lofty,  semi-circular 
sides,  and  vaulted  only  by  the  blue  sky,  and  are  among  the 
grandest  primitive  formations  I  have  ever  seen.  From  the 
maroon  shade  of  the  sand  to  the  dark,  craggy  appearance  of 
the  terraced  rocks,  there  is  as  much  variety  as  can  be  found 
in  landscape  without  verdure  and  in  solitude  without  civili- 
zation. These  amphitheaters  are  linked  together  by  narrow 
passages ;  and  so  perfect  were  the  formations,  that  four  door- 
ways, breaking  the  view  into  quadrants,  were  often  seen, 
The  view  broadened  and  lengthened  day  by  day,  until  our 
journey  lay  through  a  plain  of  billowing  sand.  Then  the 
sun  grew  fierce  and  intolerable.  The  lips  began  to  crack, 
the  eyebrows  and  mustache  were  burned  to  a  light  blonde, 


440  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

the  skin  peeled,  and  the  tongue  became  parched,  while  the 
fine  sand,  ever  present  in  the  hot  wind,  left  its  deposits  in 
the  delicate  membranes  of  the  eye.  It  is  thus,  that  a  period 
of  ten  hours  in  the  saddle,  day  after  day,  under  the  scorch- 
ing sun,  takes  the  edge  off  the  romance  of  travel,  and  calls 
to  one's  mind  the  green  lawn,  the  sparkling  fountain,  and  the 
beauties  of  a  more  tolerable  zone. 

We  were  making  about  thirty  miles  a  day,  sleeping 
soundly  at  night,  when  the  ever-watchful  hyena,  and  occa- 
sionally a  troop  of  wild  asses,  would  pay  us  their  nocturnal 
visits,  and  upon  the  fourth  morning  we  began  to  approach 
the  shores  of  the  Mirage  Seas.  These  atmospheric  phenom- 
enas  on  the  Nubian  Desert  are  not  only  very  perfect  imita- 
tions of  real  lakes,  but  have  on  many  occasions  inveigled 
expeditions  away,  to  perish  of  heat  and  thirst.  A  little  time 
before  my  expedition  to  Central  Africa  a  body  of  Egyptian 
troops  crossing  this  desert  found  their  water  almost  at  a 
boiling  point  in  the  skins,  and  nearly  exhausted.  They  be- 
held, a  few  miles  distant,  an  apparent  lake  overshadowed  by 
a  forest,  and  bordered  with  verdure  and  shrubbery.  Al- 
though told  by  the  guide  that  it  was  an  illusion,  they  broke 
ranks,  started  off  in  pursuit  of  the  sheet  of  water,  chasing  the 
aerial  phantom,  although  it  receded  with  the  pace  of  their 
approach.  At  last  they  sunk  down  from  thirst  and  fatigue? 
and  died !  Twelve  hours  on  the  Nubian  Desert  without 
water  means  a  certain  and  terrible  death ;  and  even  to  this 
day,  having  been  near  such  an  end,  with  all  of  its  indescribable 
anguish,  I  seldom  raise  a  glass  of  water  to  my  lips  that  I 
do  not  recall  a  day  when  I  lay  upon  the  burning  sand, 
awaiting  with  impatience  the  moment  that  should  snap 
asunder  the  vital  cord  and  give  peace  to  my  burning  body. 

A  mirage  certainly  presents  an  incomparable  scenic 
effect.  Once  in  its  midst,  you  are  encompassed  by  an  im- 


AL  VAN  S.  SO  UTHWOR  TH.  441 

ponderable  mirror.  It  reflects  the  rocks,  the  mountains,  the 
stray  mimosa  trees,  and  reproduces  by  inverted  mirage  every 
prominent  object  of  the  extended  landscape.  It  has  the  blue 
of  polished  platinum,  and  lies  like  a  motionless  sea,  stretch- 
ing away  from  the  craggy  bluffs.  Sometimes  during  the 
noonday  heat  it  dances  within  a  few  yards  of  the  caravan, 
and  gives  motion  to  every  object  within  its  area,  changing 
the  waste  to  the  semblance  of  rolling  seas  peopled  with  the 
semblance  of  men. 

Attacked  by  semi-blindness,  with  a  blistering  nose,  and 
lips  almost  sealed  to  speech  because  of  the  agony  of  attempted 
articulation,  I  found  the  fifth  day  brought  me  to  the  extreme 
of  suffering,  when  a  terrific  simoon  burst  over  the  desert 
gathering  up  and  dispersing  the  sands  with  indescribable 
fury.  My  mouth  and  nostrils  were  filled  with  earthy  atoms, 
and  my  eyes  were  filled  with  irritating  particles.  The  storm 
grew  so  dense  and  awful  that  it  became  a  tornado,  and  we 
were  soon  enveloped  in  total  darkness.  All  routes  of  travel 
were  obliterated,  and  destruction  threatened  my  command. 
These  sand  spouts  are  frequent,  making  a  clean  swathe,  bury- 
ing alike  man  and  beast,  and  often  they  blow  for  weeks. 
During  the  approach  of  one  of  those  death-dealing  simoon's 
I  noted  a  sublime  phenomenon.  To  southward  were  fine 
equi-distant  sand  spouts,  rising  perpendicularly  to  a  great 
height,  and  losing  their  swelling  capitals  in  the  clouds.  They 
seemed  to  stand  as  majestic  columns  supporting  the  vault  of 
the  sky,  and  the  supernatural  architecture  was  further  height- 
ened by  mirage-lakes,  whose  waters  seemed  to  dash  against 
the  pillars  as  the  green  of  doom-palms  waved  through  the 
colonnade.  The  spectacle  appeared  like  the  ruin  of  a  super- 
nal pantheon  once  reared  by  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  whose 
welcome  and  real  waters  greeted  my  eye  after  a  fourteen  days' 
journey,  which  I  trust  I  may  never  be  called  upon  to  repeat. 


XLVII. 


WHICH  SOME  PEOPLE  PERSIST  IN  INTRODUCING. 


'HY  don't  they  stop  it?  Why  do  some  people 
persist,  spite  of  my  hopes  and  prayers,  my  silent 
tears  and  protestations,  in  asking  if  "  I  'm  well," 
^  when  I  'm  before  their  eyes  apparently  the  per- 
sonification of  health? 

Why  am  I  of  that  unfortunate  class  of  beings  who  are 
afflicted  with  friends  ("  Heaven  defend  me  from  such  friends") 
who  appear  to  take  a  fiendish  delight  in  recounting  to  me 
my  real  or  (by  them)  imagined  ill-looks ;  who  come  into  my 
presence,  and  scrutinizing  me  closely,  inquire,  with  what 
looks  to  me  like  a  shade  of  anxiety,  "Are  you  sick?"  and 
if  I,  in  astonishment,  echo,  "  Sick  ?  why,  no ;  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life,"  observe,  with  insulting  mock  humility, 
"O,  excuse  me;  I  thought  you  looked  badly,"  and  turn 
again  to  other  subjects. 

But  I  do  not  natter  myself  they  are  done  with  me.  I 
know  their  evil- working  dispositions  are  far  from  satisfied  ; 
and,  presently  they  renew  the  attack  by  asking,  still  more 
obnoxiously,  "  My  dear,  are  you  sure  you  are  quite  well  to- 
day ?  you  certainly  are  pale ;"  and  if  I,  thus  severely  cross- 
questioned,  am  induced  to  admit,  half  sarcastically,  and? 
perhaps,  just  to  note  the  effect,  that  I  have — as  who  has  not— 
a  little  private  ache  somewhere  about  me  (that,  by  the  way, 
I  considered  was  only  mine  to  bear,  and  therefore  nobody's 
business  but  my  own,  and  which  may  have  been  happily 
forgotten  for  a  few  moments),  I  have  removed  the  barrier, 

442 


A  FORBIDDEN  TOPIC.  443 

given  the  opportunity  desired,  and  the  flood  rushes  in.  "I 
knew  you  were  not  well,"  they  cry,  triumphantly.  "  Your 
complexion  is  very  sallow;  your  lips  are  pale;  your  eyes 
look  dull,  and  have  dark  rings  under  them ;  and  surely  you 
are  thinner  than  when  I  saw  you  last" — concerning  all 
which  I  may  have  doubts,  though  I  have  none  that  a  frantic 
desire  is  taking  possession  of  me  to  get  away,  and  investi- 
gate these  charges;  and  when,  finally,  I  am  released  from 
torture,  I  fly  to  my  good  friend,  the  mirror;  and,  having 
obtained  from  it  the  blissful  reassurance  that  these  charges 
are  without  foundation  in  my  features,  I  feel  like  girding  on 
my  armor  and  confronting  my  disagreeable  ex-callers  and 
all  their  kind  with  a  few  pertinent  (or  impertinent)  ques- 
tions. 

I  want  to  ask  them  if  it  does  them  any  particular  good 
to  go  and  sit  in  people's  houses  by  the  hour,  watch  their 
every  look  and  action,  and  harrow  up  their  feelings  by  such 
gratuitous  information  ?  I  want  to  ask  them  if  they  suppose 
our  eyesight  is  not  so  sharp  as  theirs?  And  I  take  great 
pleasure  in  informing  them,  and  in  politely  and  frigidly  re- 
questing them  to  remember,  that,  so  far  as  my  observation 
goes,  when  people  are  ill,  or  looking  ill,  they  are  not  so 
blind,  either  to  feelings  or  appearances,  as  not  to  have  dis- 
covered the  fact;  that,  indeed,  they  must  be  exceptions  to 
the  general  rule  of  half-invalids  if  they  do  not  frequently 
and  critically  examine  every  lineament  of  their  face,  and 
secretly  grieve  over  their  increasing  imperfections;  conse- 
quently, ye  provokingly  observant  ones,  when  you  meet 
them  and  find  them  not  looking  well,  even  find  yourselves 
in  doubt  as  to  whether  they  are  looking  quite  as  well  as 
when  you  last  saw  them,  and  are  sure  you  shall  perish  unless 
you  introduce  ^yhat  Emerson  declares  "a  forbidden  topic" 
in  some  form— at  least  give  your  friends  the  benefit  of  the 


444  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

doubt;  tell  them  they  are  looking  better  than  usual,  and,  my 
word  for  it,  they  mil  be  by  the  time  they  hear  that ;  for  if 
there  is  anything  that  will  make  a  person,  especially  a  woman 
look  well,  and  feel  better,  it  is  the  knowledge  that  some  one 
thinks  she  does. 

But  if  she  is  thin,  remember  there  is  nothing  fat-produc- 
ing, in  your  telling  her  of  the  fact;  or  if  her  eyes  are  dull, 
they  will  not  brighten  at  the  certainty  that  you  know  it, 
unless  with  anger  that  your  knowledge  should  be  conveyed 
in  such  a  fashion;  and  if  she  is  pale,  telling  her  of  it  will 
not  bring  the  color  to  her  face,  unless  it  be  a  blush  of  shame 
for  your  heartless  ill-breeding. 

^So  much  for  the  class  who  appear  purposely  to  wound 
one's  feelings.  Then  there  is  another  class  who  accomplish 
the  same  result  with  no  such  intention,  who  do  it  seemingly 
from  pure  thoughtlessness,  but  who  should  none  the  less  be 
held  accountable  for  their  acts. 

One  of  these  unlucky  mortals,  who  would  not  willingly 
cause  any  one  a  single  heartache,  lately  met  a  gentleman 
friend  of  ours,  who  is,  't  is  true — and  "  pity  't  is  't  is  true  " — 
in  very  delicate  health,  and  thus  accosted  him: 

"  I  tell  you,  my  man,  unless  you  do  something  for  your- 
self, right  off,  you  won't  be  alive  three  months  from  now !" 

"Do  something!"  As  if  he  had  not  just  returned  from 
a  thousand  mile  journey  taken  to  consult  one  of  the  most 
eminent  physicians  in  the  country,  to  whom  he  paid  a  small 
fortune  for  services  that  saved  his  life;  and  as  if  he  were 
not  constantly  trying  every  thing  he  possibly  can  to  help  and 
save  himself!  Nevertheless,  after  this  blunt  prophecy,  he 
did  something  more,  something  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of 
doing.  He  went  home  utterly  miserable,  related  the  cir- 
cumstances to  his  wife  (whose  murderous  inclinations  toward 
his  officious  fellow-man  were  forgivable),  assured  her  that 


A  FORBIDDEN  TOPIC.  445 

were  his  appearance  so  horrifying  to  casual  acquaintances  he 
must  indeed  be  a  doomed  man ;  and,  spite  of  her  efforts,  al- 
ways directed  to  the  contrary,  got  the  blues,  and  conscious 
of  having  done  every  thing  else,  began  contemplating  death 
as  the  only  remedy  still  untried. 

Now,  to  me,  such  carelessness  seems  criminal.  The 
gentleman  addressed  was  attending  to  his  extensive  business, 
was  more  cheerful  than  half  the  men  who  are  considered  in 
perfect  health,  and  was,  for  him,  really  looking,  as  well  as 
feeling,  finely;  and  to  give  him  such  startling  intelligence, 
when  he  was  so  totally  unprepared  for  it,  was  inflicting 
misery  upon  him  that  one  human  being  has  no  right  to  in- 
flict upon  another;  he  has  no  right  to  advise  a  friend  to  do 
an  indefinite  "  something,"  unless  he  knows  what  will  help 
or  cure  him;  he  has  no  right  to  verbally  notice  his  condi- 
tion, and  particularly  when  he  meets  him  doing  his  duty  in 
active  business  life. 

People  should  "  think  before  they  speak,"  that  if  their 
friends  or  acquaintances  are  ill,  for  that  very  reason  they 
are  generally  discouraged  enough,  and  need  all  the  gladsome 
aid  and  comfort  those  about  them  can  possibly  give ;  and  it 
is  their  simple  duty  to  give  it. 

Said  a  mother  to  me  once,  when  urging  me  to  call  upon 
her  invalid  daughter,  "And  when  you  come,  do  not  tell  her 
she  looks  badly;  tell  her  she  looks  better,  and  you  hope 
soon  to  see  her  well.  Every  one  who  comes  in  exclaims 
about  her  terrible  aspect,  and  it  drives  me  almost  distracted 
to  note  its  ill  effect  on  her." 

"  Why,  how  can  people  be  so  heedless  ?"  cried  I.  "  Do 
they  not  know  that  even  truth  is  not  to  be  spoken  at  all 
times?  When  I  come  I'll  give  her  joy,  you  may  bfe  sure;" 
and  I  did,  though  my  heart  ached  the  while,  for  I  feared, 
all  too  truly,  her  days  on  earth  were  numbered ;  but  I  had 


446  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

my  reward  in  her  changed,  happy  countenance  and  the  grati- 
tude of  her  sorrowing  mother. 

Therefore,  if  you  are  not  the  enviable  possessor  of  one 
of  those  "  merry  hearts  that  doeth  good  like  a  medicine," 
both  to  yourself  and  to  those  with  whom  you  come  in  con- 
tact, at  least  avoid  wounding  these  by  dwelling  upon  their 
infirmities.  Even  should  you  see  your  friends  in  the  last 
stages  of  a  long  illness ;  though  their  cheeks  are  terrifying 
in  their  hollowness,  and  their  eyes  resemble  dark  caverns 
with  faint  lights  at  the  far  ends,  and  all  their  other  features 
prove  them  soon  to  be  embraced  by  the  king  of  terrors,  not 
only  in  sweet  mercy's  name  do  not  speak  of  it,  but,  unless 
compelled  to  do  so,  except  by  your  softened  tones,  make  no 
sign  that  you  notice  it ;  remember  you  can  not  smooth  their 
way  to  the  tomb  by  descanting  upon  their  poor  emaciated 
bodies,  and  there  is  just  a  chance  that  they  may  recollect 
you  a  trifle  more  kindly  when  they  have  cast  them  off,  like 
wornout  garments,  if  you  now  talk  on  pleasauter  themes — 
themes  with  which  they  are  not  already  so  grievously  fa- 
miliar.— GALE  FOREST,  in  The  Christian  Union. 


COURTESY. 

THE  savor  of  our  household  talk, 
Which  earneth  silent  thanks ; 

The  glory  of  our  daily  walk 
Among  the  busy  ranks. 

Life's  cleanly,  lubricating  oil, 
In  which  a  help  is  found 

To  make  the  wheels  of  common  toil 
Go  lightly,  swiftly  round. 

Benevolence  and  grace  of  heart 
That  gives  no  needless  pain, 

And  pours  a  balm  on  every  smart 
Till  smiles  appear  again. 


XLVIII. 
1D«  LEWIS  W1L80N. 

THE  GRACE  DARLING  OF  AMERICA. 


5 

BOUT  forty-six  years  ago  a  story  of  English 
heroism  stirred  the  heart  of  the  world.  Grace 
Darling  was  born  at  Bamborough,  on  the  coast  of 
Northumberland,  in  1815,  and  died  in  1842.  Her 
father  was  the  keeper  of  the  Long-stone  Lighthouse,  on  one 
of  the  most  exposed  of  the  Fame  islands.  On  the  night  of 
September  6,  1838,  the  Forfarshire  steamer,  proceeding  from 
Hull  to  Dundee,  was  wrecked  on  one  of  the  crags  of  the 
Fame  group.  Of  fifty-three  persons  on  board,  thirty-eight 
perished,  including  the  captain  and  his  wife.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  7th  the  survivors  were  discovered  by  Grace  cling- 
ing to  the  rocks  and  remnants  of  the  vessel,  in  imminent 
danger  of  being  washed  off  by  the  returning  tide.  Grace, 
with  the  assistance  of  her  parents,  but  against  their  remon- 
strance, immediately  launched  a  boat  and,  with  her  father, 
succeeded  in  rescuing  nine  of  them,  and  six  escaped  by  other 
means.  Presents  and  admiration  were  showered  upon  her 
from  all  parts  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and  a  public  sub- 
scription to  the  amount  of  £700  was  raised  for  her.  Among 
the  many  poets  who  sang  her  praises  was  Wordsworth,  in  a 
poem  of  considerable  length,  of  which  the  following  is  a 
passage : 

"  Among  the  dwellers  in  the  silent  fields 
The  natural  heart  is  touched,  and  public  way 
And  crowded  street  resound  with  ballad  strains, 
Inspired  by  one  whose  very  name  bespeaks 
Favor  divine,  exalting,  human  love  ; 
Whom,  since  her  birth  on  bleak  Northumbrian  coast, 

447 


448  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Known  unto  few,  but  prized  as  far  as  known, 

A  single  act  endears  to  high  and  low 

Through  the  whole  land — to  manhood,  moved  in  spite 

Of  the  world's  freezing  cares ;  to  generous  youth ; 

To  infancy,  that  lisps  her  praise  ;  to  age, 

Whose  eye  reflects  it,  glistening  through  tears 

Of  generous  admiration.     Such  true  fame 

Awaits  her  now ;  but,  verily,  good  deeds 

Do  no  imperishable  record  find 

Save  in  the  roll  of  heaven,  where  hers  may  live 

A  theme  for  angels,  when  they  celebrate 

The  high-souled  virtues  which  forgetful  earth 

Has  witnessed." 

These  lines  describe  equally  well  Ida  Lewis,  the  heroine 
of  our  own  country,  whose  brave  deeds  have  passed  into  the 
habit  of  a  life. 

Ida  Lewis  "Wilson,  for  she  is  now  married,  is  the  daughter 
of  Hosea  Lewis,  who  was  formerly  of  the  revenue  service, 
became  keeper  of  Lime  Rock  Lighthouse,  in  the  inner  har- 
bor of  Newport,  R.  I.  The  lighthouse  is  situated  on  one  of 
the  small  rocks  of  limestone  in  that  harbor,  and  is  entirely 
surrounded  by  water. 

From  her  thirteenth  year  Ida  has  resided  on  the  rock. 
As  the  only  means  of  connection  with  the  city  of  Newport  is 
by  water,  she  early  learned  the  use  of  oars.  When  she 
was  about  fifteen  years  of  age  she  rescued  from  drown- 
ing four  boys  who  had  been  thrown  into  the  water  by 
the  upsetting  of  their  boat  near  the  lighthouse.  During  the 
Winter  of  1865-66,  on  one  of  the  coldest  days  of  that  sea- 
son, she  rescued  a  soldier  belonging  to  Fort  Adams,  who  was 
clinging  to  a  skiff,  which  had  upset  with1  him  and  become 
full  of  water.  She  lifted  him  out  of  the  water  into  her  own 
boat  and  carried  him  to  the  lighthouse. 

About  this  time  the  duty  of  looking  after  the  light  de- 
pended on  Ida  and  her  mother,  her  father  having  become  a 


IDA  LEWIS  WILSON.  449 

hopeless  cripple  from  paralysis.  This  charge  they  fulfilled 
in  the  most  perfect  manner,  no  light  on  the  coast  being  more 
regularly  or  more  perfectly  attended  to.  It  is  a  singular  life 
to  imagine,  these  two  women  living  thus  isolated  from  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  freedom  of  the  life,  however,  and 
the  constant  abundance  of  stimulating  sea  air,  together  with 
the  exercise  of  rowing  to  and  from  the  city,  gave  Ida  a 
physical  strength  and  a  health  which  makes  her  richer  in 
all  the  valuable  part  of  life  than  many  of  her  sex  whose 
lives  are  passed  in  constant  repining  for  something  to 
live  for,  while  surrounded  with  all  the  appliances  of  luxury. 
That  Miss  Lewis  has  also  developed  an  independence  of 
courage  is  shown  by  her  deeds,  which  prove  also  that  the 
isolation  of  her  life  has  not  in  any  way  prevented  the  devel- 
opment of  the  tenderness  of  sympathy  with  suffering  which 
is  supposed  to  be  peculiar  to  only  the  helplessness  of  women. 

It  was  owing  to  the  efforts  of  the  late  Senator  Burnside 
that  Ida  became  the  recognized  keeper  of  the  lighthouse,  a 
promotion  as  graceful  as  it  was  deserved.  The  matter  was 
arranged  in  January,  1879,  by  Senator  Burnside  and  Collector 
Pratt, 

The  keeper  of  Lime  Rock  Light  then  was  Mrs.  Zoradia 
Lewis,  Ida's  mother,  who  had  been  in  charge  for  a  number 
of  years.  Mrs.  Lewis's  second  daughter,  who  was  very  sick, 
required  all  the  mother's  attention,  and  accordingly  it  was 
suggested  to  her  that  by  her  resignation  the  heroine  could 
receive  the  appointment.  She  gladly  accepted  the  sugges- 
tion, and  on  January  24th  Ida  received  her  appointment, 
with  a  salary  of  $750  a  year,  an  increase  of  $250  over  her 
mother's  pay.  In  communicating  the  appointment  Secre- 
tary Sherman  said:  "This  appointment  is  conferred  upon  you 
as  a  mark  of  my  appreciation  for  your,  noble  and  heroic  ef- 
forts in  saving  human  lives."  Ida  Lewis  had  given  up  all 

29 


450  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

hope  that  her  claims  would  ever  be  recognized,  and  the  news 
was  joyfully  received. 

In  July,  1881,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  awarded  the 
gold  life-saving  medal  to  her  in  recognition  of  her  services 
in  rescuing  a  number  of  persons  from  drowning  since  the 
passage  of  the  act  authorizing  such  awards.  Most  of  the 
rescues  made  were  under  circumstances  which  called  for  he- 
roic daring,  and  involved  the  risk  of  her  life.  The  follow- 
ing summary  of  her  achievements  in  life-saving  is  taken 
from  the  records  of  the  Treasury  Department : 

"  The  total  number  of  lives  Mrs.  Ida  Lewis  Wilson  has 
saved  since  1854,  so  far  as  known,  is  thirteen.  In  all  these 
cases  except  two  she  has  relied  wholly  on  herself.  Her 
latest  achievement  was  the  rescue  in  February,  1881,  of  two 
bandsmen  from  Fort  Adams,  near  Newport,  R.  I.  The  men 
were  passing  over  the  ice  near  Lime  Rock  Light-house,  where 
Mrs.  Lewis  Wilson  resides,  when  the  ice  gave  way  and  they 
fell  in.  Hearing  their  cries,  Mrs.  Wilson  ran  out  with  a 
clothes-line  which  she  threw  to  them,  successively  hauling 
them  out  at  a  great  risk  to  herself  from  the  double  peril  of 
the  ice  giving  way  beneath  her  and  of  being  pulled  in.  Her 
heroism  on  various  occasions  has  won  her  the  tribute  of  her 
State's  Legislature  expressed  in  an  official  resolution;  the 
public  presentation  to  her  of  a  boat  by  the  citizens  of  New- 
port; a  testimonial  in  money  from  the  officers  and  soldiers 
of  Fort  Adams  for  saving  their  comrades;  and  medals  from 
the  Massachusetts  Humane  Society  and  the  New  York  Life- 
saving  Benevolent  Association.  To  these  offerings  is  now 
fitly  added  the  gold  medal  of  the  United  States  Life-saving 
Service." 

The  presentation  took  place  at  the  Custom  House  at 
Newport,  on  October  11,  1881,  in  the  presence  of  many  of 
the  leading  residents  of  the  State,  who  met  there  upon  invi- 


IDA  LEWIS  WILSON.  451 

tation  of  Collector  Cozzors.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  introduced 
to  the  company  by  Ex-Collector  Macy.  The  collector  in- 
troduced Lieutenant-commander  F.  E.  Chadwick,  U.  S.  N., 
who,  in  a  happy  speech,  made  the  presentation  of  the  highest 
token  of  merit  of  the  kind  which  can  be  given  in  this  coun- 
try, the  life-saving  medal  of  the  first  class,  conferred  by  the 
United  States  Government  "  for  extreme  heroic  daring  in- 
volving eminent  personal  danger."  After  a  simple  and  elo- 
quent recital  of  the  circumstances  in  which  Mrs.  Wilson  had, 
at  the  risk  of  her  own  life  and  in  circumstances  requiring 
the  utmost  skill  and  daring,  saved  from  a  watery  grave  on  six 
occasions  thirteen  persons,  Commander  Chadwick  paid  a 
glowing  tribute  to  the  heroism  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  concluded 
by  reading  the  letter  of  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  Windom, 
conferring  the  medal  awarded  to  her  under  the  law  of  June 
20th,  1874.  Lieutenant-governor  Fay  responded  on  behalf 
of  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  an  appropriate  address  was  made  by 
Ex-Governor  Van  Zant  on  behalf  of  Newport  and  Rhode 
Island. 

After  the  addresses  the  public  were  invited  to  inspect  the 
gold  medal,  and  were  greatly  impressed  with  its  beauty. 
It  bears  upon  its  obverse  side  a  tablet  with  the  following 

inscription : 

TO 

a 
for  f ignal  peroi6m  in  paving  ffwo  ^en  from  groaning, 

—^•FEBRUARY  4,  1881x3— 

Surrounding  the  tablet  is  the  inscription : 

of  jFieroie  Beedls  i 
fro»\  i\e  Peril  of  i\e 


XLIX. 


(BORN  1767— DIED  1828.) 
THE  WIFE  OF  OUR  SEVENTH  PRESIDENT. 


ACHEL  DONELSON  was  the  maiden  name  of 
General  Jackson's  wife.  She  was  born  in  Vir- 
ginia, in  the  year  1767,  and  lived  there  until  she 
was  eleven  years  of  age.  Her  father,  Colonel 
John  Donelson,  was  a  planter  and  land  surveyor,  who  pos- 
sessed considerable  wealth  in  land,  cattle,  and  slaves.  He 
was  one  of  those  hardy  pioneers  who  were  never  content 
unless  they  were  living  away  out  in  the  woods,  beyond  the 
verge  of  civilization.  Accordingly,  in  1779,  we  find  him 
near  the  head-waters  of  the  Tennessee  River,  with  all  his 
family,  bound  for  the  western  part  of  Tennessee,  with  a 
river  voyage  of  two  thousand  miles  before  them. 

Seldom  has  a  little  girl  of  eleven  years  shared  in  so 
perilous  an  adventure.  The  party  started  in  the  depth  of 
a  severe  Winter,  and  battled  for  two  months  with  the  ice 
before  it  had  fairly  begun  the  descent  of  the  Tennessee. 
But,  in  the  Spring,  accompanied  by  a  considerable  fleet  of 
boats,  the  craft  occupied  by  John  Donelson  and  his  family 
floated  down  the  winding  stream  more  rapidly.  Many  mis- 
fortunes befell  them.  Sometimes  a  boat  would  get  aground 
and  remain  immovable  till  its  whole  cargo  was  landed. 
Sometimes  a  boat  was  dashed  against  a  projecting  point  and 
sunk.  One  man  died  of  his  frozen  feet ;  two  children  were 
born.  On  board  one  boat,  containing  twenty-eight  persons, 
the  small-pox  raged.  As  this  boat  always  sailed  at  a  cer- 

452 


RACHEL  JACKSON.  453 

tain  distance  behind  the  rest,  it  was  attacked  by  Indians, 
who  captured  it,  killed  all  the  men,  and  carried  off  the 
women  and  children.  The  Indians  caught  the  small-pox, 
of  which  some  hundreds  died  in  the  course  of  the  season. 

But  during  this  voyage,  which  lasted  several  months, 
no  misfortune  befell  the  boat  of  Colonel  Donelson;  and  he 
and  his  family,  including  his  daughter  Rachel,  arrived  safely 
at  the  site  of  the  present  city  of  Nashville,  near  which  he 
selected  his  land,  built  his  log  house,  and  established  him- 
self. Never  has  a  settlement  been  so  infested  by  hostile 
Indians  as  this.  When  Rachel  Donelson,  with  her  sisters 
and  young  friends,  went  black  berry  ing,  a  guard  of  young 
men,  with  their  rifles  loaded  and  cocked,  stood  guard  over 
the  surrounding  thickets  while  the  girls  picked  the  fruit. 
It  was  not  safe  for  a  man  to  stoop  over  a  spring  to  drink 
unless  some  one  else  was  on  the  watch  with  his  rifle  in  his 
arms;  and  when  half  a  dozen  men  stood  together,  in  con- 
versation, they  turned  their  backs  to  each  other,  all  facing 
different  ways,  to  watch  for  a  lurking  savage. 

So  the  Donelsons  lived  for  eight  years,  and  gathered 
about  them  more  negroes,  more  cattle,  and  more  horses  than 
any  other  household  in  the  settlement.  During  one  of  the 
long  Winters,  when  a  great  tide  of  emigration  had  reduced 
the  stock  of  corn,  and  threatened  the  neighborhood  with 
famine,  Colonel  Donelson  moved  to  Kentucky  with  all  his 
family  and  dependents,  and  there  lived  until  the  corn  crop 
at  Nashville  was  gathered.  Rachel,  by  this  time,  had 
grown  to  be  a  beautiful  and  vigorous  young  lady,  well 
skilled  in  all  the  arts  of  the  backwoods,  and  a  remarkably 
bold  and  graceful  rider.  She  was  a  plump  little  damsel, 
with  the  blackest  hair  and  eyes,  and  of  a  very  cheerful 
and  friendly  disposition.  During  the  temporary  residence 
of  her  father  in  Kentucky,  she  gave  her  hand  and  heart 


454  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

to  one  Lewis  Robards,  and  her  father  returned  to  Nash- 
ville without  her. 

Colonel  Donelson  soon  after,  while  in  the  woods  survey- 
ing far  from  his  home,  fell  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin.  He 
was  found  pierced  by  bullets;  but  whether  they  were  fired 
by  red  savages  or  by  white  was  never  known.  To  comfort 
her  mother  in  her  loneliness,  Rachel  and  her  husband  came 
to  Nashville  and  lived  with  her,  intending,  as  soon  as  the 
Indians  were  subdued,  to  occupy  a  farm  of  their  own. 

In  the  .year  1788  Andrew  Jackson,  a  young  lawyer  from 
North  Carolina,  arrived  at  Nashville  to  enter  upon  the  prac- 
tice of  his  profession,  and  went  to  board  with  Mrs.  Donelson. 
He  soon  discovered  that  Mrs.  Rachel  Robards  lived  most 
unhappily  with  her  husband,  who  was  a  man  of  violent  tem- 
per and  most  jealous  disposition.  Young  Jackson  had  not 
long  resided  in  the  family  before  Mr.  Robards  began  to  be 
jealous  of  him,  and  many  violent  scenes  took  place  between 
them.  The  jealous  Robards  at  length  abandoned  his  wife 
and  went  off  to  his  old  home  in  Kentucky,  leaving  Jackson 
master  of  the  field. 

A  rumor  soon  after  reached  the  place  that  Robards  had 
procured  a  divorce  from  his  wife  in  the  Legislature  of  Vir- 
ginia ;  soon  after  which  Andrew  Jackson  and  Rachel  Don- 
elson were  married.  The  rumor  proved  to  be  false,  and 
they  lived  together  for  two  years  before  a  divorce  was  really 
granted,  at  the  end  of  which  time  they  were  married  again. 
This  marriage,  though  so  inauspiciously  begun,  was  an  emi- 
nently happy  one,  although,  out  of  doors,  it  caused  the  ir- 
rascible  Jackson  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  The  peculiar 
circumstances  attending  the  marriage  caused  many  calumnies 
to  be  uttered  and  printed  respecting  Mrs.  Jackson,  and 
some  of  the  bitterest  quarrels  which  the  general  ever  had 
had  their  origin  in  them. 


RACHEL  JACKSON.  455 

At  home,  however,  he  was  one  of  the  happiest  of  men. 
His  wife  was  an  excellent  manager  of  a  household  and  a 
kind  mistress  of  slaves.  She  had  a  remarkable  memory, 
and  delighted  to  relate  anecdotes  and  tales  of  the  early  set- 
tlement of  the  country.  Daniel  Boone  had  been  one  of  her 
father's  friends,  and  she  used  to  recount  his  adventures  and 
escapes.  Her  abode  was  a  seat  of  hospitality,  and  she  well 
knew  how  to  make  her  guests  feel  at  home.  It  used  to  be 
said  in  Tennessee  that  she  could  not  write ;  but,  "  as  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  reading  nine  letters  in  her  own  hand- 
writing," says  Parton,  "  one  of  which  was  eight  pages  long, 
I  presume  I  have  a  right  to  deny  the  imputation.  It  must 
be  confessed,  however,  that  the  spelling  was  exceedingly 
bad,  and  that  the  writing  was  so  much  worse  as  to  be 
nearly  illegible.  If  she  was  ignorant  of  books,  she  was 
most  learned  in  the  lore  of  the  forest,  the  dairy,  the  kitchen, 
and  the  farm.  I  remember  walking  about  a  remarkably 
fine  spring  that  gushed  from  the  earth  near  where  her  dairy 
stood,  and  hearing  one  of  her  colored  servants  say  that 
there  was  nothing  upon  the  estate  which  she  valued  so 
much  as  that  spring."  She  grew  to  be  a  stout  woman, 
which  made  her  appear  shorter  than  she  really  was.  Her 
husband,  on  the  contrary,  was  remarkably  tall  and  slender; 
so  that  when  they  danced  a  reel  together,  which  they  often 
did,  with  all  the  vigor  of  the  olden  time,  the  spectacle  was 
extremely  curious. 

It  was  a  great  grief  to  both  husband  and  wife  that  they 
had  no  children,  and  it  was  to  supply  this  want  in  the 
household  that  they  adopted  one  of  Mrs.  Donelson's 
nephews,  and  named  him  Andrew  Jackson.  This  boy  was 
the  delight  of  them  both  as  long  as  they  lived. 

Colonel  Benton,  so  long  in  the  United  States  Senate, 
himself  a  pioneer  of  the  still  remoter  West,  who  knew  Mrs. 


456  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Jackson  well  and  long,  recorded  his  opinion  of  her  in  the 
following  forcible  language : 

"A  more  exemplary  woman  in  all  the  relations  of  life — 
wife,  friend,  neighbor,  mistress  of  slaves — never  lived,  and 
never  presented  a  more  quiet,  cheerful,  and  admirable  man- 
agement of  her  household.  She  had  the  general's  own 
warm  heart,  frank  manners,  and  admirable  temper ;  and  no 
two  persons  could  have  been  better  suited  to  each  other, 
lived  more  happily  together,  or  made  a  house  more  attractive 
to  visitors.  No  bashful  youth  or  plain  old  man,  whose 
modesty  sat  them  down  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  could 
escape  her  cordial  attention,  any  more  than  the  titled  gen- 
tlemen at  her  right  and  left.  Young  persons  were  her  de- 
light, and  she  always  had  her  house  filled  with  them,  all 
calling  her  affectionately  'Aunt  Rachel/" 

In  the  homely  fashion  of  the  time,  she  used  to  join  her 
husband  and  guests  in  smoking  a  pipe  after  dinner  and  in 
the  evening.  There  are  now  living  many  persons  who  well 
remember  seeing  her  smoking  by  her  fireside  a  long  reed 
pipe. 

AVhen  General  Jackson  went  forth  to  fight  in  the  war 
of  1812,  he  was  still  living  in  a  log  house  of  four  rooms. 
"And  this  house,"  says  Parton,  in  a  sketch  written  years 
ago,  from  which  this  is  chiefly  drawn,  "  is  still  standing  on 
his  beautiful  farm  ten  miles  from  Nashville.  I  used  to 
wonder,  when  walking  about  it,  how  it  was  possible  for 
Mrs.  Jackson  to  accommodate  so  many  guests  as  we  know 
she  did.  But  a  hospitable  house,  like  a  Third  Avenue  car, 
in  never  full ;  and  in  that  mild  climate  the  young  men 
could  sleep  on  the  piazza  or  in  the  corn-crib,  content  if 
their  mothers  and  sisters  had  the  shelter  of  the  house.  It 
was  not  until  long  after  the  general's  return  from  the  wars 
that  he  built,  or  could  afford  to  build,  the  large  brick  man- 


RACHEL  JACKSON.  457 

sion  which  he  named  the  (  Hermitage.'  The  visitor  may 
still  see  in  that  commodious  house  the  bed  on  which  this 
happy  pair  slept  and  died,  the  furniture  they  used,  and 
the  pictures  on  which  they  were  accustomed  to  look.  In 
the  hall  of  the  second  story  there  is  still  preserved  the  huge 
chest  in  which  Mrs.  Jackson  used  to  stow  away  the  woolen 
clothes  of  the  family  in  the  Summer,  to  keep  them  from  the 
moths.  Around  the  house  are  the  remains  of  the  fine  gar- 
den of  which  she  used  to  be  proud,  and  a  little  beyond  are 
the  cabins  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  slaves,  to  whom  she  was 
more  a  mother  than  a  mistress." 

A  few  weeks  after  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  when 
Jackson  was  in  the  first  flush  of  his  triumph,  this  plain 
planter's  wife  floated  down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans 
to  visit  her  husband  and  accompany  him  home.  She  had 
never  seen  a  city  before ;  for  Nashville,  at  that  day,  was  lit- 
tle more  than  a  village.  The  elegant  ladies  of  New  Orleans 
were  exceedingly  pleased  to  observe  that  General  Jackson, 
though  he  was  himself  one  of  the  most  graceful  and  polite 
of  gentlemen,  seemed  totally  unconscious  of  the  homely 
bearing,  the  country  manners,  and  awkward  dress  of  his  wife. 
In  all  companies  and  on  all  occasions  he  showed  her  every 
possible  mark  of  respect.  The  ladies  gathered  about  her 
and  presented  her  with  all  sorts  of  showy  knick-knacks  and 
jewelry,  and  one  of  them  undertook  the  task  of  selecting 
suitable  clothes  for  her.  She  frankly  confessed  that  she 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  such  things,  and  was  willing  to 
wear  any  thing  the  ladies  thought  proper.  Much  as  she  en- 
joyed her  visit,  she  was  glad  enough  to  return  to  her  old 
home  on  the  banks  of  the  Cumberland,  and  resume  her 
oversight  of  the  dairy  and  the  plantation. 

Soon  after  the  peace,  a  remarkable  change  came  over  the 
spirit  of  this  excellent  woman.  Parson  Blackburn,  as  the 


458  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

general  always  called  him,  was  a  favorite  preacher  in  that 
part  of  Tennessee,  and  his  sermons  made  so  powerful  an  im- 
pression on  Mrs.  Jackson  that  she  joined  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  and  was  ever  after  devotedly  religious.  The  gen- 
eral Himself  was  almost  persuaded  to  follow  her  example. 
He  did  not,  however ;  but  he  testified  his  sympathy  with  his 
wife's  feelings  by  building  a  church  for  her — a  curious  little 
brick  edifice — on  his  own  farm ;  the  smallest  church,  perhaps, 
in  the  United  States.  It  looks  like  a  very  small  school- 
house  ;  it  has  no  steeple,  no  portico,  and  but  one  door ;  and 
the  interior,  which  contains  forty  little  pews,  is  unpaiuted, 
and  the  floor  is  of  brick.  On  Sundays,  the  congregation  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  the  general,  his  family,  and  half  a  dozen 
neighbors,  with  as  many  negroes  as  the  house  would  hold, 
and  could  see  through  the  windows.  It  was  just  after  tho 
completion  of  this  church  that  General  Jackson  made  his 
famous  reply  to  a  young  man  who  objected  to  the  doctrine 
of  future  punishment. 

"  I  thank  God,"  said  this  youth,  "  I  have  too  much  good 
sense  to  believe  there  is  such  a  place  as  hell." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  General  Jackson,  "/  thank  God  there 
is  such  a  place." 

"Why,  general,"  asked  the  young  man,  "what  do  you 
want  with  such  a  place  of  torment  as  hell?" 

To  which  the  general  replied,  as  quick  as  lightning : 

"  To  put  such  rascals  as  you  are  in,  that  oppose  and  vilify 
the  Christian  religion.'' 

The  young  man  said  no  more,  and  soon  after  found  it 
convenient  to  take  his  leave. 

Mrs.  Jackson  did  not  live  to  see  her  husband  President 
of  the  United  States,  though  she  lived  long  enough  to  know 
that  he  was  elected  to  that  office.  When  the  news  was 
brought  to  her  of  her  husband's  election,  in  December,  1828, 


RACHEL  JACKSON.  459 

she  quietly  said  :  "  Well,  for  Mr.  Jackson's  sake "  (she  al- 
ways called  him  Mr.  Jackson)  "I  am  glad;  for  my  own  part, 
I  never  wished  it." 

The  people  of  Nashville,  proud  of  the  success  of  their 
favorite,  resolved  to  celebrate  the  event  by  a  great  banquet 
on  the  22d  of  December,  the  anniversary  of  the  day  on  which 
the  general  had  first  defeated  the  British  below  New  Orleans ; 
and  some  of  the  ladies  of  Nashville  were  secretly  preparing 
a  magnificent  wardrobe  for  the  future  mistress  of  the  White 
House.  Six  days  before  the  day  appointed  for  the  celebra- 
tion, Mrs.  Jackson,  while  busied  about  her  household  affairs 
in  the  kitchen  of  the  hermitage,  suddenly  shrieked,  placed 
her  hands  upon  her  heart,  sank  upon  a  chair,  and  fell  for- 
ward into  the  arms  of  one  of  her  servants.  She  was  carried 
to  her  bed,  where,  for  the  space  of  sixty  hours,  she  suffered 
extreme  agony,  during  the  whole  of  which  her  husband  never 
left  her  side  for  ten  minutes.  Then  she  appeared  much  better, 
and  recovered  the  use  of  her  tongue.  This  was  only  two 
days  before  the  day  of  the  festival,  and  the  first  use  she  made 
of  her  recovered  speech  was  to  implore  her  husband  to  go  to 
another  room  and  sleep,  so  as  to  recruit  his  strength  for  the 
banquet.  He  would  not  leave  her,  however,  but  lay  down 
upon  a  sofa  and  slept  a  little.  The  evening  of  the  22d  she  ap- 
peared to  be  so  much  better  that  the  general  consented,  after 
much  persuasion,  to  sleep  in  the  next  room,  and  leave  his  wife 
in  the  care  of  the  doctor  and  two  of  his  most  trusted  servants. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  bade  her  good-night,  went  to  the  next 
room,  and  took  off  his  coat,  preparatory  to  lying  down. 
When  he  had  been  gone  five  minutes  from  her  room,  Mrs. 
Jackson,  who  was  sitting  up,  suddenly  gave  a  long,  loud,  in- 
articulate cry,  which  was  immediately  followed  by  the  death 
rattle  in  her  throat.  By  the  time  her  husband  had  reached 
her  side,  she  had  breathed  her  last. 


460  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

"  Bleed  her,"  cried  the  general. 

But  no  blood  flowed  from  her  arm. 

"  Try  the  temple,"  doctor. 

A  drop  or  two  of  blood  stained  her  cap,  but  no  more  fol- 
lowed. Still,  it  was  long  before  he  would  believe  her  dead, 
and  when  there  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt,  and  they  were 
preparing  a  table  upon  which  to  lay  her  out,  he  cried,  with 
a  choking  voice : 

"  Spread  four  blankets  upon  it ;  for  if  she  does  come  to 
she  will  lie  so  hard  upon  the  table." 

All  night  long  he  sat  in  the  room,  occasionally  looking 
into  her  face,  and  feeling  if  there  was  any  pulsation  in  her 
heart.  The  next  morning  when  one  of  his  friends  arrived, 
just  before  daylight,  he  was  nearly  speechless  and  utterly 
unconsolable,  looking  twenty  years  older. 

There  was  no  banquet  that  day  in  Nashville.  On  the 
morning  of  the  funeral,  the  grounds  were  crowded  with 
people,  who  saw,  with  emotion,  the  poor  old  general  sup- 
ported to  the  grave  between  two  of  his  old  friends,  scarcely 
able  to  stand.  The  remains  were  interred  in  the  garden  of 
the  Hermitage,  in  a  tomb  which  the  general  had  recently 
completed.  The  tablet  which  covers  her  dust  contains  the 
following  inscription: 

"  Here  lie  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Rachel  Jackson,  wife  of 
President  Jackson,  who  died  the  22nd  of  December,  1828, 
aged  61.  Her  face  was  fair,  her  person  pleasing,  her  temper 
amiable,  her  heart  kind;  she  delighted  in  relieving  the  wants 
of  her  fellow-creatures,  and  cultivated  that  divine  pleasure 
by  the  most  liberal  and  unpretending  methods;  to  the  poor 
she  was  a  benefactor;  to  the  rich  an  example;  to  the  wretched 
a  comforter;  to  the  prosperous  an  ornament;  her  piety  went 
hand  in  hand  with  her  benevolence,  and  she  thanked  her 
Creator  for  being  permitted  to  do  good.  A  being  so  gentle 


RACHEL  JACKSON.  461 

and  so  virtuous,  slander  might  wound  but  not  dishonor. 
Even  death,  when  he  tore  her  from  the  arms  of  husband, 
could  but  transport  to  the  bosom  of  her  God." 

Andrew  Jackson  was  never  the  same  man  again.  Dur- 
ing his  presidency  he  never  used  the  phrase,  "  By  the 
Eternal,"  nor  any  other  language  which  could  be  considered 
profane.  He  mourned  his  wife  until  he  himself  rejoined 
her  in  the  tomb  he  had  prepared  for  them  both. 

Of  all  the  blessed  things  below 

To  hint  the  joys  above, 
There  is  not  one  our  hearts  may  know 

So  dear  as  mated  love. 

It  walks  the  garden  of  the  Lord, 

It  gives  itself  away ; 
To  give,  and  think  not  of  reward, 

Is  glory  day  by  day. 

And  though  sometimes  the  shadows  fall, 

And  day  is  dark  as  night, 
It  bows  and  drinks  the  cup  of  gall, 

But  gives  not  up  the  fight. 

For  One  is  in  the  union  where 

The  mine  is  ever  thine, 
Whose  presence  keeps  it  brave  and  fair, 

A  melody  divine. 


XLIX. 

,8, 


ONE  PANACEA  FOR  THEM— AND  ONE  REFUGE. 


OT  every  girl  is  discontented,  nor  are  any  wretched 
all  the  time.  If  they  were,  our  homes  would  lose 
much  sunshine.  Certainly  no  class  in  the  com- 
munity is  so  constantly  written  about,  talked  at, 
and  preached  to  as  our  girls.  And  still  there  always  seems 
to  be  room  left  for  one  word  more.  I  am  persuaded  that 
the  leaven  of  discontent  pervades  girls  of  the  several  social 
ranks,  from  the  fair  daughter  of  a  cultured  home  to  her  who 
has  grown  up  in  a  crowded  tenement,  her  highest  ambition 
to  dress  like  the  young  ladies  she  sees  on  the  fashionable 
avenue.  City  girls  and  country  girls  alike  know  the  mean- 
ing of  this  discontent,  which  sometimes  amounts  to  morbid- 
ness, and  again  only  to  nervous  irritability. 

I  once  knew  and  marveled  at  a  young  person  who  spent 
her  languid  existence  idly  lounging  in  a  rocking-chair,  eat- 
ing candy,  and  reading  novels,  whilst  her  mother  bustled 
about,  provoking  by  her  activity  an  occasional  remonstrance 
from  her  indolent  daughter.  "Do,  ma,  keep  still,"  she 
would  say,  with  amiable  wonder  at  ma's  notable  ways.  This 
incarnation  of  sweet  selfishness  was  hateful  in  my  eyes,  and 
I  have  often  queried,  in  the  twenty  years  which  have  passed 
since  I  saw  her,  what  sort  of  woman  she  made.  As  a  girl 
she  was  vexatious,  though  no  ripple  of  annoyance  crossed 
the  white  brow,  no  frown  obscured  it,  and  no  flurry  of  im- 
patience ever  tossed  the  yellow  curls.  She  had  no  aspira- 
tions which  candy  and  a  rocking-chair  could  not  gratify. 

462 


DISCONTENTED  GIRLS.  463 

It  is  not  so  with  girls  of  a  larger  mind  and  greater  vitality 

the  girls,  for  instance,  in  our  own  neighborhood,  whom  we 
have  known  since  they  were  babies.  Many  of  them  feel 
very  much  dissatisfied  with  life,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
so ;  and,  strangely  enough,  the  accident  of  a  collegiate  or 
common-school  education  makes  little  difference  in  their 
conclusions. 

"  To  what  end,"  says  the  former,  "  have  I  studied  hard, 
and  widened  my  resources?  I  might  have  been  a  society 
girl,  and  had  a  good  time,  and  been  married  and  settled 
sometime,  without  going  just  far  enough  to  find  out  what 
pleasure  there  is  in  study,  and  then  stopping  short." 

I  am  quoting  from  what  girls  have  said  to  me — girls 
who  have  been  graduated  with  distinction,  and  whose  par- 
ents preferred  that  they  should  neither  teach,  nor  paint,  nor 
enter  upon  a  profession,  nor  engage  in  any  paid  work.  Pol- 
ished after  the  similitude  of  a  palace,  what  should  the 
daughters  do  except  stay  at  home  to  cheer  father  and  moth- 
er, play  and  sing  in  the  twilight,  read,  shop,  sew,  visit,  re- 
ceive their  friends,  and  be  young  women  of  elegant  leisure? 
If  love,  and  love's  climax,  the  wedding  march,  follow  soon 
upon  a  girl's  leaving  school,  she  is  taken  out  of  the  ranks 
of  girlhood,  and  in  accepting  woman's  highest  vocation, 
queenship  in  the  kingdom  of  home,  foregoes  the  ease  of  her 
girlish  life  and  its  peril  of  ennui  and  unhappiness  together. 
This,  however,  is  the  fate  of  the  minority,  and  while  young 
people  continue,  as  thousands  do,  to  dread  beginning  home 
life  upon  small  means,  it  must  so  remain. 

Education  is  not  a  fetich,  though  some  who  ought  to 
know  better  regard  it  in  that  superstitious  light.  No  amount 
of  school  training,  dissevered  from  religious  culture  and 
from  that  development  of  the  heart  and  of  the  conscience 
without  which  intellectual  wealth  is  poverty,  will  lift  any- 


464  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

body,  make  anybody  happier  or  better,  or  fit  anybody  for 
blithe  living  in  this  shadowy  world.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
there  are  numbers  of  girls  whose  education,  having  made 
them  objects  of  deep  respect  to  their  simple  fathers  and  moth- 
ers, has  also  gone  far  to  make  the  old  home  intolerable,  the 
home  ways  distasteful,  and  the  old  people,  alas !  subjects  of 
secret,  deprecating  scorn.  A  girl  has,  indeed,  eaten  of  the 
tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  when  her  eyes  are 
opened  in  such  wise  that  she  is  ashamed  of  her  plain,  honorable, 
old-fashioned  parents,  or,  if  not  ashamed,  is  still  willing  to 
let  them  retire  to  the  background  while  she  shines  in  the 
front. 

I  did  not  write  this  article  for  the  purpose  of  saying  what 
I  hold  to  be  the  bounden  duty  of  every  father  and  mother  in 
the  land;  viz.,  to  educate  the  daughter  as  they  educate  the 
son,  to  some  practical,  bread-winning  pursuit.  That  should 
be  the  rule,  and  not  the  exception.  A  girl  should  be  trained 
so  that  with  either  head  or  hands,  as  artist  or  artisan,  in  some 
way  or  other,  she  will  be  able  to  go  into  the  world's  market 
with  something  for  which  the  world,  being  shrewd  and  know- 
ing what  it  wants,  will  pay  in  cash.  Rich  or  poor,  the 
American  father  who  fails  to  give  his  daughter  this  special 
training  is  a  short-sighted  and  cruel  man. 

My  thought  was  rather  of  the  girls  themselves.  Some 
of  them  will  read  this.  So  will  some  of  their  mothers. 
Mothers  and  daughters  often,  not  invariably,  are  so  truly  en 
rapport  that  their  mutual  comprehension  is  without  a  flaw. 
There  are  homes  in  which,  with  the  profoundest  regard  and 
the  truest  tenderness  on  both  sides,  they  do  not  understand 
each  other.  The  mother  either  sees  the  daughter's  discon- 
tent, recognizes  and  resents  it,  or  fails  to  see  it,  would  laugh 
at  its  possibility,  and  pity  the  sentimentalist  who  imagined 
it.  And  there  are  dear,  blooming,  merry-hearted,  clear-eyed 


DISCONTENTED  GIRLS.  465 

young  women  who  are  as  gay  and  as  elastic  as  bird  on  bough 
or  flower  in  field. 

To  discontented  girls  I  would  say,  there  is  for  you  one 
panacea — Work;  and  there  is  one  refuge — Christ.  Have 
you  been  told  this  before  ?  Do  you  say  that  you  can  find  no 
work  worth  the  doing?  Believe  me,  if  not  in  your  own 
home,  you  need  go  no  further  than  your  own  set,  your  own 
street,  your  own  town,  to  discover  it  waiting  for  you.  No 
one  else  can  do  it  so  well.  Perhaps  no  one  else  can  do  it  at 
all.  The  girl  can  not  be  unhappy  who,  without  reserve  and 
with  full  surrender,  consecrates  herself  to  Christ,  for  then 
will  she  have  work  enough. — MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 


GOD  giveth  his  beloved  rest  through  action 
Which  reacheth  for  the  dream  of  joy  on  earth ; 

Inertness  brings  the  heart  no  satisfaction, 
But  condemnation  and  the  sense  of  dearth. 

And  shall  the  dream  of  life,  the  quenchless  yearning 
For  something  which  is  yet  beyond  control, 

The  flame  within  the  breast  forever  burning, 
Not  leap  to  action  and  exalt  the  soul? — 

Surmount  all  barriers  to  brave  endeavor, 
Make  for  itself  a  way  where  it  would  go, 

And  flash  the  crown  of  ecstacy  forever, 
Which  only  laborers  with  God  may  know  ? 

In  action  there  is  joy  which  is  no  fiction, 
The  hope  of  something  as  in  faith  begun, 

God's  sweet  and  everlasting  benediction, 
The  flush  of  victory  and  labor  done ! 

Labor  puts  on  the  livery  of  greatness, 
While  genius  idle  withers  from  the  sight, 

And  in  its  triumph  takes  no  note  of  lateness, 
For  time  exists  not  in  Eternal  Light. 
30 


LI. 


"  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  and  -would  not  be  comforted, 
because  they  -were  not." 


f 


PS  have  heard  the  voice  in  Kamah, 
)     The  grief  in  the  days  of  yore, 
When  the  beautiful  ' '  flowers  of  the  martyrs " 
Went  to  bloom  on  another  shore. 

The  light  of  our  life  is  darkness, 
And  with  sorrow  we  are  not  done; 

For  thine  is  the  bitterest  mourning, 
Mourning  for  an  only  son! 

And  what  shall  I  utter  to  comfort 
The  heart  that  is  dearest  of  all  ? 

Too  young  for  the  losses  and  crosses, 
Too  young  for  the  rise  and  the  fall? 

O,  yes";  we  own  it,  we  own  it ; 

But  not  too  young  for  the  grace 
That  was  so  nameless  and  blameless, 

For  the  yearning  and  tender  embrace! 

He  hung,  he  hung  on  thy  bosom 
In  that  happiest,  weariest  hour, 

A  dear  little  bird  to  its  blossom, 
The  beautiful,  dutiful  flower. 

And  thus  he  grew  by  its  sweetness, 

He  grew  by  its  sweetness  so 
That  smile  unto  smile  responded — 

But  a  little  while  ago ! 
466 


We  nave  heard  the  voice  in  Raman. 


THE  VOICE  IN  RAM  AH.  467 

And  you  and  I  were  happy 

In  many  a  vision  fair 
Of  a  ripe  and  glorious  manhood 

Which  the  world  and  we  should  share. 

In  a  little  while  the  patter 

Of  two  little  feet  was  heard ; 
And  many  a  look  it  cheered  us, 

A  look  that  was  more  than  a  word. 

In  a  little  while  he  uttered 

The  words  we  longed  to  hear ; 
And  mamma  and  papa  blessed  him 

With  a  blessing  of  hope  and  fear. 

In  a  little  while  he  budded, 

A  bud  of  the  promising  Spring, 
And  O  for  the  beautiful  blossom, 

And  O  for  the  fruit  it  will  bring! 

The  joy,  they  never  may  know  it 

Who  never  have  parents  been, 
The  joy  of  a  swelling  bosom, 

With  a  growing  light  within: 

A  light  that  is  soft  and  tender, 

And  growing  in  strength  and  grace, 
Which  wreathes  a  form  that  is  slender 

And  glows  in  a  dear  little  face! 

But  life  it  knoweth  the  shadow, 

The  shadow  as  well  as  the  shine ; 
For  the  one  it  follows  the  other, 

And  both  together  are  thine. 

For  the  bud  it  never  unfolded, 

The  light  it  flickered  away, 
And  whose  is  the  power  to  utter 

The  grief  of  that  bitterest  day  ? 


BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

His  form  is  yet  before  me, 

With  the  fair  and  lofty  brow, 
And  the  day  since  last  we  kissed  it — 

Is  it  long  since  then  and  now? 

Dearest,  it  seems  but  a  minute, 

Though  Winter  has  spread  the  snow, 

Meek  purity's  mantle  to  cover 
The  one  that  is  resting  below. 

In  the  acre  of  God,  that  is  yonder, 

And  unto  the  west  his  head, 
He  sleepeth  the  sleep  untroubled, 

With  one  to  watch  at  his  bed. 

For  the  bright  and  guardian  angel 
Who  beholdeth  the  Father's  face, 

Doth  stand  as  a  sentinel  watching 
O'er  the  dear  one's  resting-place; 

Doth  stand  as  a  sentinel  guarding 

The  dust  of  the  precious  dead, 
Till  at  length  the  trumpet  souudeth, 

When  the  years  of  the  world  are  sped; 

And  the  throng  which  can  not  be  numbered 
Put  on  their  garments  of  white, 

And  gird  themselves  for  the  glory 
Of  a  realm  that  hath  no  night. 

And  so  he  is  gone,  the  darling, 
And  the  dream  so  fair  and  vain, 

Whose  light  has  faded  to  darkness, 
We  shall  never  dream  again! 

Never?     Is  the  earth  the  limit 

To  bright  and  beautiful  hope  ? 
If  the  world  brings  not  fruition, 

Must  we  in  darkness  grope? 


THE  VOICE  IN  RAMAH.  469 

O  no !     There  is  expectation 

Which  the  grave  can  not  control; 
There  is  boundless  infinite  promise 

For  the  living  and  deathless  soul. 

And  the  darling  who  left  us  early 

May  yonder  grow  a  man ; 
In  deeds  of  the  great  hereafter 

He  may  take  his  place  in  the  van. 

O,  if  thine  is  the  bitterest  mourning, 

Mourning  for  an  only  son, 
Believe  that  in  God,  the  Giver, 

Our  darling  his  course  begun ; 

Believe  that  in  God,  the  Taker, 

His  course  forever  will  be ; 
For  this  is  the  blessed  comfort, 

The  comfort  for  thee  and  me. 

Yea,  this  is  the  blessed  comfort 

In  sorrow  like  that  of  yore, 
When  the  beautiful  "  flowers  of  the  martyrs'* 

Went  to  bloom  on  another  shore. 


LIL 


(BORN  1757— DIED  1834.) 
THE  FRIEND  AND  DEFENDER  OF  LIBERTY  ON  TWO  CONTINENTS. 


N  the  year  1730  there  appeared  in  Paris  a  little 
volume  entitled  "Philosophic  Letters,"  which 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  influential  books 
produced  in  modern  times. 
It  was  written  by  Voltaire,  who  was  then  thirty-six  years 
of  age,  and  contained  the  results  of  his  observations  upon  the 
English  nation,  in  which  he  had  resided  for  two  years. 
Paris  was  then  as  far  from  London,  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses, as  New  York  now  is  from  Calcutta,  so  that  when 
Voltaire  told  his  countrymen  of  the  freedom  that  prevailed 
in  England,  of  the  tolerance  given  to  religious  sects,  of  the 
honors  paid  to  untitled  merit,  of  Newton,  buried  in  West- 
minster Abbey  with  almost  regal  pomp,  of  Addison,  secre- 
tary of  state,  and  Swift,  familiar  with  prime  ministers,  and 
of  the  general  liberty,  happiness,  and  abundance  of  the  king- 
dom, France  listened  in  wonder,  as  to  a  new  revelation. 
The  work  was,  of  course,  immediately  placed  under  the  ban 
by  the  French  Government,  and  the  author  exiled,  which 
only  gave  it  increased  currency  and  deeper  influence. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  movement  which  produced 
at  length,  the  French  Revolution  of  1787,  and  which  has 
continued  until  France  is  now  blessed  with  a  free  and  con- 
stitutional government.  It  began  among  the  higher  classes 
of  the  people,  for,  at  that  day,  not  more  than  one-third  of 
the  French  could  read  at  all,  and  a  much  smaller  fraction 
470 


LAFAYETTE.  471 

could  read  such  a  book  as  the  "Philosophic  Letters"  and 
the  books  which  it  called  forth.  Republicanism  was  fash- 
ionable in  the  drawing-rooms  of  Paris  for  many  years  be- 
fore the  mass  of  the  people  knew  what  the  word  meant. 

Among  the  young  noblemen  who  were  early  smitten  in 
the  midst  of  despotism  with  the  love  of  liberty,  was  the 
Marquis  de  La  Fayette,  born  in  1757.  Few  families  in  Eu- 
rope could  boast  a  greater  antiquity  than  his.  A  century 
before  the  discovery  of  America  we  find  the  La  Fayettes 
spoken  of  as  an  "ancient  house/'  and  in  every  generation 
at  least  one  member  of  the  family  had  distinguished  himself 
by  his  services  to  his  king.  This  young  man,  coming  upon 
the  stage  of  life  when  republican  ideas  were  teeming  in  every 
cultivated  mind,  embraced  them  with  all  the  ardor  of  youth 
and  intelligence.  At  sixteen  he  refused  a  high  post  in  the 
household  of  one  of  the  princes  of  the  blood  and  accepted  a 
commission  in  the  army.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  was 
married  to  the  daughter  of  a  duke,  whose  dowry  added  a 
considerable  fortune  to  his  own  ample  possessions.  She  was 
an  exceedingly  lovely  woman,  and  tenderly  attached  to  her 
husband,  and  he  was  as  fond  of  her  as  such  a  boy  could  be. 

The  American  Revolution  broke  out.  In  common  with 
all  the  high-born  republicans  of  his  time,  his  heart  warmly 
espoused  the  cause  of  the  revolted  colonies,  and  he  imme- 
diately conceived  the  project  of  going  to  America  and  fight- 
ing under  her  banner.  He  was  scarcely  nineteen  years  of 
age  when  he  sought  an  interview  with  Silas  Deane,  the 
American  envoy,  and  offered  his  services  to  the  Congress. 
Mr.  Deane,  it  appears,  objected  to  his  youth. 

"When,"  says  he,  "I  presented  to  the  envoy  my  boyish 
face,  I  spoke  more  of  my  ardor  in  the  cause  than  of  my  ex- 
perience; but  I  dwelt  much  upon  the  effect  my  departure 
would  have  in  France,  and  he  signed  our  mutual  agreement." 


472  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

His  intention  was  concealed  from  all  his  family  and  from 
all  his  friends,  except  two  or  three  confidants.  While  he 
was  making  preparation  for  his  departure,  most  distressing 
and  alarming  news  came  from  America — the  retreat  from 
Long  Island,  the  loss  of  New  York,  the  battle  of  White 
Plains,  and  the  retreat  through  New  Jersey.  The  American 
forces,  it  was  said,  reduced  to  a  disheartened  band  of  three 
thousand  militia,  were  pursued  by  a  triumphant  army  of 
thirty-three  thousand  English  and  Hessians.  The  credit  of 
the  colonies  at  Paris  sank  to  the  lowest  ebb,  and  some  of  the 
Americans  themselves  confessed  to  La  Fayette  that  they  were 
discouraged,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  abandon  his  project. 
He  said  to  Mr.  Deane : 

"Until  now,  sir,  you  have  only  seen  my  ardor  in  your 
cause,  and  that  may  not  at  present  prove  wholly  useless.  I 
shall  purchase  a  ship  to  carry  out  your  officers.  We  must 
feel  confidence  in  the  future,  and  it  is  especially  in  the  hour 
of  danger  that  I  wish  to  share  your  fortune." 

He  proceeded  at  once  with  all  possible  secrecy  to  raise 
the  money  and  to  purchase  and  arm  a  ship.  While  the 
ship  was  getting  ready,  in  order  the  better  to  conceal  his 
intention,  he  made  a  journey  to  England,  which  had  pre- 
viously been  arranged  by  his  family.  He  was  presented  to 
the  British  king,  against  whom  he  was  going  to  fight ;  he 
dined  at  the  house  of  the  minister  who  had  the  department 
of  the  colonies;  he  visited  Lord  Rawdon,  afterwards  distin- 
guished in  the  Revolutionary  struggle;  he  saw  at  the  opera 
Sir  Henry  Clinton,  whom  he  next  saw  on  the  battle-field  of 
Monmouth,  and  he  breakfasted  with  Lord  Shelburne,  a  friend 
of  the  colonies. 

"  While  I  concealed  my  intentions,"  he  tells  us,  "  I  openly 
avowed  my  sentiments.  I  often  defended  the  Americans. 
I  rejoiced  at  their  success  at  Trenton,  and  it  was  my  spirit 


LA  FA  YETTE.  473 

of  opposition  that  obtained  for  me  an  invitation  to  breakfast 
with  Lord  Shelburne." 

On  his  return  to  France  his  project  was  discovered,  and 
his  departure  forbidden  by  the  king.  He  sailed,  however, 
in  May,  1777,  cheered  by  his  countrymen,  and  secretly  ap- 
proved by  the  government  itself.  On  arriving  at  Philadel- 
phia, he  sent  to  Congress  a  remarkably  brief  epistle  to  the 
following  effect:  "After  my  sacrifices,  I  have  the  right  to 
ask  two  favors.  One  is,  to  serve  at  my  own  expense;  the 
other,  to  begin  to  serve  as  a  volunteer." 

Congress  immediately  named  him  a  major-general  of  the 
American  army',  and  he  at  once  reported  himself  to  General 
Washington.  His  services  at  the  Brandywine,  where  he 
was  badly  wounded ;  in  Virginia,  where  he  held  an  im- 
portant command ;  at  Monmouth,  where  he  led  the  attack — 
are  sufficiently  well  known.  When  he  had  been  in  America 
about  fifteen  months,  the  news  came  of  the  impending 
declaration  of  war  between  France  and  England.  He  then 
wrote  to  Congress  that,  as  long  as  he  had  believed  himself 
free,  he  had  gladly  fought  under  the  American  flag ;  but 
that  his  own  country  being  at  war,  he  owed  it  the  homage 
of  his  service,  and  he  desired  their  permission  to  return 
home.  He  hoped,  however,  to  come  back  to  America ;  and 
asserted  then  that,  wherever  he  went,  he  should  be  a  zealous 
friend  of  the  United  States.  Congress  gave  him  leave  of 
absence,  voted  him  a  sword,  and  wrote  a  letter  on  his 
behalf  to  the  king  of  France.  "We  recommend  this  noble 
young  man,"  said  the  letter  of  Congress,  "  to  the  favor  of 
your  majesty,  because  we  have  seen  him  wise  in  council, 
brave  in  battle,  and  patient  under  the  fatigues  of  war." 
He  was  received  in  France  with  great  distinction,  which 
he  amusingly  describes  : 

"  When  I  went  to  court,  which  had  hitherto  only  written 


474  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

for  me  orders  for  my  arrest,  I  was  presented  to  the  minis- 
ters. I  was  interrogated,  complimented,  and  exiled — to  the 
hotel  where  my  wife  was  residing.  Some  days  after,  I 
wrote  to  the  king  to  acknowledge  my  fault.  I  received  in 
reply  a  light  reprimand  and  the  colonelcy  of  the  Royal 
Dragoons.  Consulted  by  all  the  ministers,  and,  what  was 
much  better,  embraced  by  all  the  women,  I  had  at  Ver- 
sailles the  favor  of  the  king  and  celebrity  of  Paris." 

In  the  midst  of  his  popularity  he  thought  always  of 
America,  and  often  wished  that  the  cost  of  the  banquets 
bestowed  upon  him  could  be  poured  into  the  treasury  of 
Congress.  His  favorite  project  at  that  time  was  the  in- 
vasion of  England — Paul  Jones  to  command  the  fleet,  and 
he  himself  the  army.  When  this  scheme  was  given  up,  he 
joined  all  his  influence  with  that  of  Franklin  to  induce  the 
French  Government  to  send  to  America  a  powerful  fleet  and 
a  considerable  army.  When  he  had  secured  the  promise 
of  this  valuable  aid,  he  returned  to  America  and  served 
again  in  the  armies  of  the  young  republic. 

The  success  of  the  United  States  so  confirmed  him  in 
his  attachment  to  republican  institutions,  that  he  remained 
their  devoted  adherent  and  advocate  as  long  as  he  lived. 

"  May  this  revolution,"  said  he  once  to  Congress,  "  serve 
as  a  lesson  to  oppressors,  and  as  an  example  to  the  op- 
pressed." 

And,  in  one  of  his  letters  from  the  United  States  occurs 
this  sentence :  "  I  have  always  thought  that  a  king  was  at 
least  a  useless  being ;  viewed  from  this  side  of  the  ocean,  a 
king  cuts  a  poor  figure  indeed." 

By  the  time  he  had  left  America,  at  the  close  of  the 
war,  he  had  expended  in  the  service  of  Congress  seven 
hundred  thousand  francs — a  free  gift  to  the  cause  of 
liberty. 


LA  FAYETTE.  475 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  circumstances  of  La  Fayette's 
residence  in  America  was  the  affectionate  friendship  which 
existed  between  himself  and  General  Washington.  He 
looked  up  to  Washington  as  to  a  father  as  well  as  a  chief; 
and  Washington  regarded  him  with  a  tenderness  truly 
paternal.  La  Fayette  named  his  eldest  son  George  Washing- 
ton, and  never  omitted  any  opportunity  to  testify  his  love 
and  admiration  for  the  illustrious  American.  Franklin, 
too,  was  much  attached  to  the  youthful  enthusiast,  and 
privately  wrote  to  General  Washington,  asking  him,  for  the 
sake  of  the  young  and  anxious  wife  of  the  marquis,  not  to 
expose  his  life  except  in  an  important  and  decisive  en- 
gagement. 

In  the  diary  of  the  celebrated  William  Wilberforce,  who 
visited  Paris  soon  after  the  peace,  there  is  an  interesting 
passage  descriptive  of  La  Fayette's  demeanor  at  the  French 
court : 

"He  seemed  to  be  the  representative  of  the  democracy 
in  the  very  presence  of  the  monarch — the  tribune  intruding 
with  his  veto  within  the  chamber  of  the  patrician  order. 
His  own  establishment  was  formed  upon  the  English 
model,  and  amidst  the  gayety  and  ease  of  Fontainebleau 
he  assumed  an  air  of  republican  austerity.  When  the  fine 
ladies  of  the  court  would  attempt  to  drag  him  to  the  card- 
table,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of  affected 
contempt  for  the  customs  and  amusements  of  the  old  regime. 
Meanwhile,  the  deference  which  this  champion  of  the  new 
state  of  things  received,  above  all  from  the  ladies  of  the 
court,  intimated  clearly  the  disturbance  of  the  social  atmo- 
sphere, and  presaged  the  coming  tempest." 

From  the  close  of  the  American  war  for  independence 
to  the  beginning  of  the  French  Revolution  a  period  of  six 
years  elapsed,  during  which  France  suffered  much  from  the 


476  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

exhaustion  of  her  resources  in  aiding  the  Americans.  La 
Fayette  lived  at  Paris,  openly  professing  republicanism, 
which  was  then  the  surest  passport  to  the  favor  both  of  the 
people  and  the  court.  The  queen  of  France  herself  favored 
the  republican  party,  though  without  understanding  its  ob- 
ject or  tendencies.  La  Fayette  naturally  became  the  organ 
and  spokesman  of  those  who  desired  a  reform  in  the 
government.  He  recommended,  even  in  the  palace  of  the 
king,  a  restoration  of  civil  rights  to  the  Protestants ;  the 
suppression  of  the  heavy  and  odious  tax  on  salt ;  the  reform 
of  the  criminal  courts ;  and  he  denounced  the  waste  of 
public  money  on  princes  and  court  favorites. 

The  Assembly  of  the  Notables  convened  in  1787  to  con- 
sider the  state  of  the  kingdom.  La  Fayette  was  its  most 
distinguished  and  trusted  member,  and  it  was  he  who  de- 
manded a  convocation  of  the  representatives  of  all  the 
departments  of  France,  for  the  purpose  of  devising  a  per- 
manent remedy  for  the  evils  under  which  France  was 
suffering. 

"  What,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  royal  princes  to  La  Fayette, 
"  do  you  really  demand  the  assembling  of  a  general  congress 
of  France?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  replied  La  Fayette, "  and  more  than  that" 

Despite  the  opposition  of  the  court,  this  memorable  con- 
gress met  in  Paris  in  1789,  and  La  Fayette  represented  in 
it  the  nobility  of  his  province.  It  was  he  who  presented 
the  "Declaration  of  Rights," drawn  upon  the  model  of  those 
with  which  he  had  been  familiar  in  America,  and  it  was 
finally  adopted.  It  was  he,  also,  who  made  the  ministers 
of  the  crown  responsible  for  their  acts,  and  for  the  conse- 
quences of  their  acts. 

When  this  National  Assembly  was  declared  permanent, 
La  Fayette  was  elected  its  vice-president,  and  it  was  in  that 


LA  FAYETTE.  477 

character  that,  after  the  taking  of  the  Bastile,  he  went  to 
the  scene,  at  the  head  of  a  deputation  of  sixty  members,  to 
congratulate  the  people  upon  their  triumph.  The  next  day, 
a  city  guard  was  organized  to  preserve  the  peace  of  Paris, 
and  the  question  arose  in  the  assembly  who  should  command 
it.  The  president  arose  and  pointed  to  the  bust  of  La  Fay- 
ette,  presented  by  the  State  of  Virginia  to  the  city  of  Paris. 
The  hint  was  sufficient,  and  La  Fayette  was  elected  to  the 
post  by  acclamation.  He  called  his  citizen  soldiers  by  the 
name  of  National  Guards,  and  he  distinguished  them  by  a 
tri-colored  cockade,  and  all  Paris  immediately  fluttered  with 
tri-colored  ribbons  and  badges. 

"  This  cockade,"  said  La  Fayette,  as  he  presented  one  to 
the  National  Assembly,  "  will  make  the  tour  of  the  world." 
From  the  time  of  his  acceptance  of  the  command  of  the 
National  Guard,  the  course  of  La  Fayette  changed  its  char- 
acter, and  the  change  became  more  and  more  marked  as  the 
revolution  preceded.  Hitherto  he  had  been  chiefly  employed 
in  rousing  the  sentiment  of  liberty  in  the  minds  of  his 
countrymen ;  but  now  that  the  flame  threatened  to  become 
a  dangerous  conflagration,  it  devolved  upon  him  to  stay  its 
ravages.  It  was  a  task  beyond  human  strength,  but  he  most 
gallantly  attempted  it.  On  some  occasions  he  rescued  with 
his  own  hands  the  victims  of  the  popular  fury,  and  arrested 
the  cockaded  assassins  who  would  have  destroyed  them. 
But  even  his  great  popularity  was  ineffectual  to  prevent  the 
massacre  of  innocent  citizens,  and  more  than  once,  over- 
whelmed with  grief  and  disgust,  he  threatened  to  throw  up 
his  command. 

On  that  celebrated  day  when  sixty  thousand  of  the  people 
of  Paris  poured  in  a  tumultuous  flood  into  the  park  of  Ver- 
sailles, and  surrounded  the  palace  of  the  king,  La  Fayette 
was  compelled  to  join  the  throng,  in  order,  if  possible,  to 


478  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

control  its  movements.  He  arrived  in  the  evening,  and  spent 
the  whole  night  in  posting  the  National  Guard  about  the 
palace,  and  taking  measures  to  secure  the  safety  of  the  royal 
family.  At  the  dawn  of  day  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed 
for  a  few  minutes'  repose.  Suddenly,  the  alarm  was  sounded. 
Some  infuriated  men  had  broken  into  the  palace,  killed  two 
of  the  king's  body-guard,  and  rushed  into  the  bed-chamber 
of  the  queen,  a  minute  or  two  after  she  had  escaped  from  it- 
La  Fayette  ran  to  the  scene,  followed  by  some  of  the 
National  Guard,  and  found  all  the  royal  family  assembled 
in  the  king's  chamber,  trembling  for  their  lives.  Beneath 
the  window  of  the  apartment  was  a  roaring  sea  of  upturned 
faces,  scarcely  kept  back  by  a  thin  line  of  National  Guards. 
La  Fayette  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony,  and  tried  to  ad- 
dress the  crowd,  but  could  not  make  himself  heard.  He 
then  led  out  upon  the  balcony  the  beautiful  queen,  Marie 
Antoinette,  and  kissed  her  hand;  then  seizing  one  of  the 
body-guard  embraced  him,  and  placed  his  own  cockade  on 
the  soldier's  hat.  At  once  the  temper  of  the  multitude  was 
changed,  and  the  cry  burst  forth : 

"  Long  live  the  general !  Long  live  the  queen !  Long  live 
the  body-guard  ! " 

It  was  immediately  announced  that  the  king  would  go 
with  the  people  to  Paris;  which  had  the  effect  of  completely 
allaying  their  passions.  During  the  long  march  of  ten  miles, 
La  Fayette  rode  close  to  the  door  of  the  king's  carriage,  and 
thus  conducted  him,  in  the  midst  of  the  tramping  crowd,  in 
safety  to  the  Tuilleries.  When  the  royal  family  was  once 
more  secure  within  its  walls,  one  of  the  ladies,  the  daughter 
of  the  late  king,  threw  herself  in  the  arms  of  La  Fayette, 
exclaiming: 

"  General,  you  have  saved  us." 

From  this  moment  dates  the  decline  of  La  Fayette's  pop- 


LA  FAYETTE.  479 

ularity;  and  his  actions,  moderate  and  wise,  continually 
lessened  it.  He  demanded,  as  a  member  of  the  National 
Assembly,  that  persons  accused  of  treason  should  be  fairly 
tried  by  a  jury,  and  he  exerted  all  his  power,  while  giving  a 
constitution  to  his  country,  to  preserve  the  monarchy. 

To  appease  the  suspicions  of  the  people  that  the  king  med- 
itated a  flight  from  Paris,  he  declared  that  he  would  answer 
with  his  head  for  the  king's  remaining.  When,  therefore, 
in  June,  1791,  the  king  and  queen  made  their  blundering 
attempt  to  escape,  La  Fayette  was  immediately  suspected  of 
having  secretly  aided  it.  Danton  cried  out  at  the  Jacobin 
club : 

"  We  must  have  the  person  of  the  king,  or  the  head  of 
the  commanding  general !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that,  after  the  king's  return,  he  ceased  to 
pay  him  royal  honors;  nothing  could  remove  the  suspicions 
of  the  people.  Indeed,  he  still  openly  advised  the  preser- 
vation of  the  monarchy,  and,  when  a  mob  demanded  the 
suppression  of  the  royal  power,  and  threatened  violence  to 
the  National  Guard,  the  general,  after  warning  them  to  dis- 
perse, ordered  the  troops  to  fire — an  action  which  totally  de- 
stroyed his  popularity  and  influence.  Soon  after,  he  resigned 
his  commission  and  his  seat  in  the  Assembly,  and  withdrew 
to  one  of  his  country  seats. 

He  was  not  long  allowed  to  remain  in  seclusion.  The 
allied  dynasties  of  Europe,  justly  alarmed  at  the  course  of 
events  in  Paris,  threatened  the  new  republic  with  war.  La 
Fayette  was  appointed  to  command  one  of  the  three  armies 
gathered  to  defend  the  frontiers.  While  he  was  disciplining 
his  troops,  and  preparing  to  defend  the  country,  he  kept  an 
anxious  eye  upon  Paris,  and  saw  with  ever-increasing  alarm 
the  prevalence  of  the  savage  element  in  the  national  politics. 
In  1792  he  had  the  boldness  to  write  a  letter  to  the  National 


480  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Assembly,  demanding  the  suppression  of  the  clubs,  and  the 
restoration  of  the  king  to  the  place  and  power  assigned  him 
by  the  constitution. 

Learning,  soon  after,  the  new  outrages  put  upon  the 
king,  he  suddenly  left  his  army  and  appeared  before  the  bar 
of  the  Assembly,  accompanied  by  a  single  aide-de-camp; 
there  he  renewed  his  demands,  amid  the  applause  of  the 
moderate  members;  but  a  member  of  the  opposite  party 
adroitly  asked: 

"Is  the  enemy  conquered?  Is  the  country  delivered, 
since  General  La  Fayette  is  in  Paris  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  he,  "  the  country  is  not  delivered ;  the 
situation  is  unchanged ;  and,  nevertheless,  the  general  of  one 
of  our  armies  is  in  Paris." 

After  a  stormy  debate,  the  Assembly  declared  that  he 
had  violated  the  constitution  in  making  himself  the  organ 
of  an  army  legally  incapable  of  deliberating,  and  had  ren- 
dered himself  amenable  to  the  minister  of  war  for  leaving 
his  post  without  permission.  Repulsed  thus  by  the  Assem- 
bly, coldly  received  at  court,  and  rejected  by  the  National 
Guard,  he  returned  to  his  army  despairing  of  the  country. 
There  he  made  one  more  attempt  to  save  the  king  by  in- 
ducing him  to  come  to  his  camp  and  fight  for  his  throne. 
This  project  being  rejected,  and  the  author  of  it  denounced 
by  Robespierre,  his  bust  publicly  burned  in  Paris,  and  the 
medal  formerly  voted  him  broken  by  the  hand  of  the  exe- 
cutioner, he  deemed  it  necessary  to  seek  an  asylum  in  a 
neutral  country.  Having  provided  for  the  safety  of  his 
army,  he  crossed  the  frontiers  in  August,  1792,  accompanied 
by  twenty-one  persons,  all  of  whom,  on  passing  an  Austrian 
post,  were  taken  prisoners,  and  La  Fayette  was  thrown  into 
a  dungeon.  The  friend  of  liberty  and  order  was  looked 
upon  as  a  common  enemy.  His  noble  wife,  who  had  been 


LA  FAYETTE.  481 

for  fifteen  months  a  prisoner  in  Paris,  hastened,  after  her 
release,  to  share  her  husband's  captivity. 

For  five  years,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  England, 
America,  and  the  friends  of  liberty  everywhere,  La  Fayette 
remained  a  prisoner.  To  every  demand  for  his  liberation 
the  Austrian  Government  replied,  with  its  usual  stupidity, 
that  the  liberty  of  La  Fayette  was  incompatible  with  the 
safety  of  the  governments  of  Europe.  He  owed  his  libera- 
tion, at  length,  to  General  Bonaparte,  and  it  required  all 
his  great  authority  to  procure  it.  When  La  Fayette  was 
presented  to  Napoleon  to  thank  him  for  his  interference,  the 
first  consul  said  to  him: 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  the  devil  you  have  done  to  the 
Austrians;  but  it  cost  them  a  mighty  struggle  to  let 
you  go." 

La  Fayette  voted  publicly  against  making  Napoleon 
consul  for  life,  against  the  establishment  of  the  empire. 
Notwithstanding  this,  Napoleon  and  he  remained  very  gpod 
friends.  The  emperor  said  of  him  one  day : 

"  Everybody  in  France  is  corrected  of  his  extreme  ideas 
of  liberty  except  one  man,  and  that  man  is  La  Fayette. 
You  see  him  now  tranquil :  very  well ;  if  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  serve  his  chimeras,  he  would  reappear  on  the 
scene  more  ardent  than  ever." 

Upon  his  return  to  France,  he  was  granted  the  pension 
belonging  to  the  military  rank  he  had  held  under  the  re- 
public, and  he  recovered  a  competent  estate  from  the  prop- 
erty of  his  wife.  Napoleon  also  gave  a  military  commission 
to  his  son,  George  Washington ;  and,  when  the  Bourbons 
were  restored,  La  Fayette  received  an  indemnity  of  four 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs. 

Napoleon's  remark  proved  correct.  La  Fayette,  though 
he  spent  most  of  the  evening  of  his  life  in  directing  the 

31 


482  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

cultivation  of  his  estate,  was  always  present  at  every  crisis 
in  the  affairs  of  France  to  plead  the  cause  of  constitutional 
liberty.  He  made  a  fine  remark  once  in  its  defense,  when 
taunted  with  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revolution :  "  The 
tyranny  of  1793,"  he  said,  "was  no  more  a  republic  than 
the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  was  a  religion." 

His  visit  to  America  in  1824  is  well  remembered.  He 
was  the  guest  of  the  nation ;  and  Congress,  in  recompense 
of  his  expenditures  during  the  Revolutionary  War,  made 
him  a  grant  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  an  ex- 
tensive tract  of  land.  It  was  La  Fayette  who,  in  1830, 
was  chiefly  instrumental  in  placing  a  constitutional  monarch 
on  the  throne  of  France.  The  last  words  he  ever  spoke 
in  public  were  uttered  in  behalf  of  the  French  refugees 
who  had  fled  from  France  for  offenses  merely  political;  and 
the  last  words  he  ever  wrote  recommended  the  abolition  of 
slavery.  He  died  May  19,  1834,  aged  seventy -seven.  His 
son/  George  Washington,  always  the  friend  of  liberty,  like 
his  father,  died  in  1849,  leaving  two  sons — inheritors  of  a 
name  so  full  of  inspiration  to  the  world. 


LIII. 
LY01R  81G0URNEY, 

(BORN   1791—DlED    1865.) 

THE  LESSON  OF  A  USEFUL  AND  BEAUTIFUL  LIFE. 


BEAUTIFUL  life  I  have  had.  Not  more  trial 
than  was  for  my  good.  Countless  blessings  be- 
yond expectation  or  desert.  .  .  .  Behind  me 
stretch  the  green  pastures  and  still  waters  by 
which  I  have  been  led  all  my  days.  Around  is  the  linger- 
ing of  hardy  flowers  and  fruits  that  bide  the  Winter. 
Before  stretches  the  shining  shore." 

These  are  the  words  of  Mrs.  Sigourney,  written  near  the 
close  of  a  life  of  seventy-four  years.  All  who  have  much 
observed  human  life  will  agree  that  the  rarest  achievement 
of  man  or  woman  on  this  earth  is  a  solid  and  continuous 
happiness.  There  are  very  few  persons  past  seventy  who 
can  look  back  upon  their  lives,  and  sincerely  say  that  they 
would  willingly  live  their  lives  over  again.  Mrs.  Sigour- 
ney, however,  was  one  of  the  happy  few. 

Lydia  Huntley,  for  that  was  her  maiden  name,  was  born 
at  Norwich,  Connecticut,  on  the  first  of  September,  1791. 
Her  father  was  Ezekiel  Huntley,  an  exceedingly  gentle, 
affectionate  man,  of  Scotch  parentage,  who  had  as  little  of  a 
Yankee  in  him  as  any  man  in  Connecticut.  Unlike  a 
Yankee,  he  never  attempted  to  set  up  in  business  for  him- 
self, but  spent  the  whole  of  the  active  part  of  his  life  in 
the  service  of  the  man  to  whom  he  was  apprenticed  in  his 
youth.  His  employer  was  a  druggist  of  great  note  in  his 
day,  who  made  a  large  fortune  in  his  business,  and  built 

483 


484  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

one  of  the  most  elegant  houses  in  the  State.  On  his  retire- 
ment from  business  his  old  clerk  continued  to  reside  under 
his  roof,  and  to  assist  in  the  management  of  his  estate ; 
and,  even  when  he  died,  Mr.  Huntley  did  not  change  his 
abode,  but  remained  to  conduct  the  affairs  of  the  widow. 
In  the  service  of  this  family  he  saved  a  competence  for 
his  old  age,  and  he  lived  to  eighty-seven,  a  most  happy, 
serene  old  man,  delighting  chiefly  in  his  garden  and  his 
only  child.  He  survived  as  late  as  1839. 

Owing  to  the  peculiar  relations  sustained  by  her  father 
to  a  wealthy  family — living,  too,  in  a  wing  of  their  stately 
mansion,  and  having  the  free  range  of  its  extensive  gar- 
dens— Lydia  Huntley  enjoyed  in  her  youth  all  the  substan- 
tial advantages  of  wealth,  without  encountering  its  perils. 
She  was  surrounded  by  objects  pleasing  or  beautiful,  but 
no  menial  pampered  her  pride  or  robbed  her  of  her  right- 
ful share  of  household  labor.  As  soon  as  she  was  old 
enough  to  toddle  about  the  grounds,  her  father  delighted  to 
have  her  hold  the  trees  which  he  was  planting,  and  drop 
the  seed  into  the  little  furrows  prepared  for  it,  and  never 
was  she  better  pleased  than  when  giving  him  the  aid  of 
her  tiny  fingers.  Her  parents  never  kept  a  servant,  and 
she  was  brought  up  to  do  her  part  in  the  house.  Living 
on  plain,  substantial  fare,  inured  to  labor,  and  dressed  so  as 
to  allow  free  play  to  every  limb  and  muscle,  she  laid  in  a 
stock  of  health,  strength,  and  good  temper  that  lasted  her 
down  to  the  last  year  of  her  life.  She  never  knew  what 
dyspepsia  was.  She  never  possessed  a  costly  toy,  nor  a  doll 
that  was  not  made  at  home,  but  she  passed  a  childhood  that 
was  scarcely  anything  but  joy.  She  was  an  only  child,  and 
she  was  the  pet  of  two  families,  yet  she  was  not  spoiled. 

She  was  one  of  those  children  who  take  naturally  to  all 
kinds  of  culture.  Without  ever  having  had  a  child's  book, 


LYDIA  SIGOURNEY.  485 

she  sought  out,  in  the  old-fashioned  library  of  the  house, 
everything  which  a  child  could  understand.  Chance  threw 
a  novel  in  her  way  ("  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  "),  which  she 
devoured  with  rapture,  and  soon  after,  when  she  was  but 
eight  years  of  age,  she  began  to  write  a  novel.  Poetry,  too, 
she  read  with  singular  pleasure,  never  weary  of  repeating 
her  favorite  pieces.  But  the  passion  of  her  childhood  was 
painting  pictures.  Almost  in  her  infancy  she  began  to  draw 
with  a  pin  and  lilac-leaf,  and  advanced  from  that  to  slate 
and  pencil,  and,  by  and  by,  to  a  lead-pencil  and  backs  of 
letters.  When  she  had  learned  to  draw  pretty  well,  she  was 
on  fire  to  paint  her  pictures,  but  was  long  puzzled  to  pro- 
cure the  colors.  Having  obtained  in  some  way  a  cake  of 
gamboge,  she  begged  of  a  washerwoman  a  piece  of  indigo, 
and  by  combining  these  two  ingredients  she  could  make 
different  shades  of  yellow,  blue,  and  green.  The  trunks 
of  her  trees  she  painted  with  coffee-grounds,  and  a  mixture 
of  India  ink  and  indigo  answered  tolerably  well  for  sky 
and  water.  She  afterwards  discovered  that  the  pink  juice 
of  chokeberry  did  very  well  for  lips,  cheeks,  and  gay  dresses. 
Mixed  with  a  little  indigo  it  made  a  very  bad  purple,  which 
the  young  artist,  for  the  want  of  a  better,  was  obliged  to 
use  for  her  royal  robes.  In  sore  distress  for  a  better  purple 
she  squeezed  the  purple  flowers  of  the  garden  and  the  field 
for  the  desired  tint,  but  nothing  answered  the  purpose, 
until,  at  dinner  one  day,  she  found  the  very  hue  for  which 
she  longed  in  the  juice  of  a  currant  and  whortleberry  tart. 
She  hastened  to  try  it,  and  it  made  a  truly  gorgeous  purple, 
but  the  sugar  in  it  caused  it  to  come  off  in  flakes  from  her 
kings  and  emperors,  leaving  them  in  a  sorry  plight.  At 
length,  to  her  boundless,  inexpressible,  and  lasting  joy,  all 
her  difficulties  were  removed  by  her  father  giving  her  a 
complete  box  of  colors. 


486  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

At  school  she  was  fortunate  in  her  teachers.  One  of 
them  was  the  late  Pelatiah  Perit,  who  afterward  won  high 
distinction  as  a  New  York  merchant  and  universal  philan- 
thropist. Her  first  serious  attempts  at  practical  composi- 
tion were  translations  from  Virgil,  when  she  was  fourteen 
years  of  age.  After  leaving  school  she  studied  Latin  with 
much  zeal  under  an  aged  tutor,  and,  later  in  life,  she  ad- 
vanced far  enough  in  Hebrew  to  read  the  Old  Testament, 
with  the  aid  of  grammar  and  dictionary.  To  these  grave 
studies  her  parents  added  a  thorough  drill  in  dancing. 
Often,  when  her  excellent  mother  observed  that  she  had  sat 
too  long  over  her  books,  she  would  get  her  out  upon  the 
floor  of  their  large  kitchen,  and  then,  striking  up  a  lively 
song,  set  her  dancing  until  her  cheeks  were  all  aglow. 

This  studious  and  happy  girl,  like  other  young  people, 
had  her  day-dream  of  the  future.  It  was  to  keep  a  school. 
This  strange  ambition,  she  tells  us  in  her  autobiography,  she 
feared  to  impart  to  her  companions,  lest  they  should  laugh 
at  her;  and  she  thought  even  her  parents  would  think  her 
arrogant  if  she  mentioned  it  to  them.  The  long-cherished 
secret  was  revealed  to  her  parents  at  length.  Her  mother 
had  guessed  it  before,  but  her  father  was  exceedingly  sur- 
prised. Neither  of  them,  however,  made  any  objection,  and 
one  of  the  pleasantest  apartments  of  their  house  was  fitted 
up  for  the  reception  of  pupils.  She  was  then  a  delicate- 
looking  girl  of  about  eighteen,  and  rather  undersized.  As 
soon  as  her  desks  were  brought  home  by  the  carpenter,  the 
ambitious  little  lady  went  around  to  the  families  of  the  place, 
informed  them  of  her  intention,  and  solicited  their  patron- 
age at  the  established  rate  of  three  dollars  a  quarter  for 
each  pupil.  She  was  puzzled  and  disappointed  at  the  cool- 
ness with  which  her  project  was  received.  Day  after  day 
she  tramped  the  streets  of  Norwich,  only  to  return  at  night 


LYDIA  SIGOURNEY.  487 

without  a  name  upon  her  catalogue.  She  surmised,  after  a 
time,  that  parents  hesitated  to  intrust  their  children  to  her 
because  of  her  extreme  youth,  which  was  the  fact.  At  length, 
however,  she  began  her  school  with  two  children,  nine  and 
eleven  years  of  age,  and  not  only  did  she  go  through  all  the 
formalities  of  school  with  them,  working  six  hours  a  day 
for  five  days,  and  three  hours  on  Saturday,  but  at  the  end 
of  the  terra  she  held  an  examination  in  the  presence  of  a 
large  circle  of  her  pupils'  admiring  relations. 

Afterwards,  associating  herself  with  another  young  lady, 
to  whom  she  was  tenderly  attached,  she  succeeded  better. 
A.  large  and  populous  school  gathered  about  these  zealous 
and  admirable  girls,  several  of  their  pupils  being  older  than 
themseves.  Compelled  to  hold  the  school  in  a  larger  room, 
Lydia  Huntley  walked  two  miles  every  morning,  and  two 
more  every  night,  besides  working  hard  all  day;  and  she 
was  as  happy  as  the  weeks  were  long.  Her  experience  con- 
firms that  of  every  genuine  teacher — from  Dr.  Arnold  down- 
ward— that,  of  all  employments  of  man  or  woman  on  this 
earth,  the  one  that  is  capable  of  giving  the  most  constant 
and  intense  happiness  is  teaching  in  a  rationally  conducted 
school.  So  fond  was  she  of  teaching,  that  when  the  severity 
of  the  Winter  obliged  her  to  suspend  the  school  for  many 
weeks,  she  opened  a  free  school  for  poor  children,  one  of 
her  favorite  classes  in  which  was  composed  of  colored  girls. 
In  the  course  of  time,  the  well-known  Daniel  Wadsworth, 
the  great  man  of  Hartford  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago,  lured 
her  away  to  that  city,  where  he  personally  organized  a  school 
of  thirty  young  ladies,  the  daughters  of  his  friends,  and 
gave  her  a  home  in  his  own  house.  There  she  spent  five 
happy  years,  cherished  as  a  daughter  by  her  venerable  pa- 
tron and  his  wife,  and  held  in  high  honor  by  her  pupils  and 
their  parents. 


488  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

It  was  in  1815,  while  residing  in  Hartford,  that  her  fame 
was  born.  Good  old  Mrs.  Wadsworth,  having  obtained  sight 
of  her  journals  and  manuscripts  in  prose  and  verse,  the  se- 
cret accumulation  of  many  years,  inflamed  her  husband's 
curiosity  so  that  he,  too,  asked  to  see  them.  The  blushing 
poetess  consented.  Mr.  Wadsworth  pronounced  some  of 
them  worthy  of  publication,  and,  under  his  auspices,  a  vol- 
ume was  printed  in  Hartford,  entitled  "  Moral  Pieces  in 
Prose  and  Verse."  The  public  gave  it  a  generous  welcome, 
and  its  success  led  to  a  career  of  authorship  which  lasted 
forty-nine  years,  and  gave  to  the  world  fifty-six  volumes  of 
poetry,  tales,  travels,  biography,  and  letters. 

So  passed  her  life  till  she  was  past  twenty-eight.  She 
had  received  many  offers  of  marriage  from  clergymen  and 
others,  but  none  of  her  suitors  tempted  her  to  forsake  her 
pupils,  and  she  supposed  herself  destined  to  spend  her  days 
as  an  old  maid.  But  another  destiny  was  in  store  for  her. 
On  her  way  to  and  from  her  school,  "  a  pair  of  deep-set 
and  most  expressive  black  eyes"  sometimes  encountered  hers 
and  spoke  "  unutterable  things."  Those  eyes  belonged  to  a 
widower,  with  three  children,  named  Charles  Sigourney,  a 
thriving  hardware  merchant,  of  French  descent,  and  those 
"unutterable  things"  were  uttered  at  length  through  the 
unromantic  medium  of  a  letter.  The  marriage  occurred  a 
few  months  after,  in  the  year  1819. 

For  the  next  fifteen  years  she  resided  in  the  most  ele- 
gant mansion  in  Hartford,  surrounded  by  delightful  grounds, 
after  Mr.  Sigourney's  own  design ;  and  even  now,  though 
the  Sigourney  place  is  eclipsed  in  splendor  and  costliness 
by  many  of  more  recent  date,  there  is  no  abode  in  the 
beautiful  city  of  Hartford  more  attractive  than  this.  Mr. 
Sigourney  was  a  man  of  considerable  learning,  and  exceed- 
ingly interested  in  the  study  of  languages.  When  he  was 


LYDIA  SIGOURNEY.  489 

past  fifty  he  began  the  study  of  modern  Greek.  Mrs. 
Sigourney  became  the  mother  of  several  children,  all  of 
whom,  but  two,  died  in  infancy.  One  son  lived  to  enter 
college,  but  died  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  of  consumption.  A 
daughter  grew  to  womanhood,  and  became  the  wife  of  a 
clergyman. 

After  many  years  of  very  great  prosperity  in  business, 
Mr.  Sigourney  experienced  heavy  losses,  which  compelled 
them  to  leave  their  pleasant  residence,  and  gave  a  new  ac- 
tivity to  her  pen.  He  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-six. 
During  the  last  seven  years  of  Mrs.  Sigourney's  life,  her 
chief  literary  employment  was  contributing  to  the  columns 
of  the  New  York  Ledger.  Mr.  Bonner,  having  while  an 
apprentice  in  the  Hartford  Current  office  "  set  up  "  some  of 
her  poems,  had  particular  pleasure  in  being  the  medium  of 
her  last  communications  with  the  public,  and  she  must 
have  rejoiced  in  the  vast  audience  to  which  he  gave  her 
access — the  largest  she  ever  addressed. 

Mrs.  Sigourney  enjoyed  excellent  health  to  within  a  few 
weeks  of  her  death.  After  a  short  illness,  which  she  bore 
with  much  patience,  she  died  in  June,  1865,  with  her 
daughter  at  her  side,  and  affectionate  friends  around  her. 
Nothing  could  exceed  her  tranquility  and  resignation  at  the 
approach  of  death.  Her  long  life  had  been  spent  in  honor- 
able labor  for  the  good  of  her  species,  and  she  died  in  the 
fullest  certainty  that  death  would  but  introduce  her  to  a 
larger  and  better  sphere. 


LIV. 
0LD  PGE  AMD  USEFULNESS. 

THE  GLORY  OF  BRAVE  MEN   AND  WOMEN. 


Dear  Lord !  I  thank  thee  for  a  life  of  use ; 
Dear  Lord !  I  do  not  pine  for  any  truce. 
Peace,  peace  has  always  come  from  duty  done ; 
Peace,  peace  will  so  until  the  end  be  won. 
Thanks,  thanks!  a  thankful  heart  is  my  reward; 
Thanks,  thanks  befit  the  children  of  the  Lord. 
Wind,  wind !  the  peaceful  reel  must  still  go  round ; 
Wind,  wind  !  the  thread  of  life  will  soon  be  wound. 
The  worker  has  no  dread  of  growing  old ; 
First,  years  of  toil,  and  then  the  age  of  gold! 
For  lo !  he  hopes  to  bear  his  flag  unfurled 
Beyond  the  threshold  of  another  world. 

fOHX  FOSTER,  he  who  sprang  into  celebrity 
from  one  essay,  Popular  Ignorance,  had  a  diseased 
feeling  against  growing  old,  which  seems  to  us  to 
be  very  prevalent.  He  was  sorry  to  lose  every 
parting  hour.  "  I  have  seen  a  fearful  sight  to-day/'  he 
would  say — "  I  have  seen  a  buttercup."  To  others  the  sight 
would  only  give  visions  of  the  coming  Spring  and  future 
Summer ;  to  him  it  told  of  the  past  year,  the  last  Christmas, 
the  days  which  would  never  come  again — the  so  many  days 
nearer  the  grave.  Thackeray  continually  expressed  the 
same  feeling.  He  reverts  to  the  merry  old  time  when 
George  the  Third  was  king.  He  looks  back  with  a  regret- 
ful mind  to  his  own  youth.  The  black  Care  constantly 
rides  behind  his  chariot.  "Ah,  my  friends,"  he  says,  "  how 
beautiful  was  youth  !  We  are  growing  old.  Spring-time 
and  Summer  are  past.  We  near  the  Winter  of  our  days. 
490 


Wind,  wind!  the  peaceful  reel  must  etill  go  round. 
Wind,  wind!  the  thread  of  life  will  soon  fra  wound. 


OLD  AGE  AND  USEFULNESS.  491 

"We  shall  never  feel  as  we  have  felt.  We  approach  the 
inevitable  grave."  Few  men,  indeed,  know  how  to  grow 
old  gracefully,  as  Madame  de  Stael  very  truly  observed. 
There  is  an  unmanly  sadness  at  leaving  off  the  old  follies 
and  the  old  games.  We  all  hate  fogyism.  Dr.  Johnson, 
great  and  good  as  he  was,  had  a  touch  of  this  regret,  and 
we  may  pardon  him  for  the  feeling.  A  youth  spent  in 
poverty  and  neglect,  a  manhood  consumed  in  unceasing 
struggle,  are  not  preparatives  to  growing  old  in  peace.  We 
fancy  that,  after  a  stormy  morning  and  a  lowering  day,  the 
evening  should  have  a  sunset  glov,  and,  when  the  night 
sets  in,  look  back  with  regret  at  the  "  gusty,  babbling,  and 
remorseless  day ;"  but,  if  we  do  so,  we  miss  the  supporting 
faith  of  the  Christian  and  the  manly  cheerfulness  of  the 
heathen.  To  grow  old  is  quite  natural ;  being  natural,  it  is 
beautiful ;  and  if  we  grumble  at  it,  we  miss  the  lesson,  and 
lose  all  the  beauty. 

Half  of  our  life  is  spent  in  vain  regrets.  When  we  are 
boys  we  ardently  wish  to  be  men ;  when  men  we  wish  as 
ardently  to  be  boys.  We  sing  sad  songs  of  the  lapse  of 
time.  We  talk  of  "  auld  lang  syne,"  of  the  days  when  we 
were  young,  of  gathering  shells  on  the  sea-shore  and  throw- 
ing them  carelessly  away.  We  never  cease  to  be  sentimen- 
tal upon  past  youth  and  lost  manhood  and  beauty.  Yet 
there  are  no  regrets  so  false,  and  few  half  so  silly.  Perhaps 
the  saddest  sight  in  the  world  is  to  see  an  old  lady,  wrinkled 
and  withered,  dressing,  talking,  and  acting  like  a  very 
young  one,  and  forgetting  all  the  time,  as  she  clings  to  the 
feeble  remnant  of  the  past,  that  there  is  no  sham  so  trans- 
parent as  her  own,  and  that  people,  instead  of  feeling  with 
her,  are  laughing  at  her.  Old  boys  disguise  their  foibles  a 
little  better;  but  they  are  equally  ridiculous.  The  feeble 
protests  which  they  make  against  the  flying  chariot  of  Time 


492  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

are  equally  futile.  The  great  Mower  enters  the  field,  and 
all  must  come  down.  To  stay  him  would  be  impossible. 
We  might  as  well  try  with  a  finger  to  stop  Ixion's  wheel, 
or  to  dam  up  the  current  of  the  Thames  with  a  child's  foot. 
Since  the  matter  is  inevitable,  we  may  as  well  sit  down 
and  reason  it  out.  Is  it  so  dreadful  to  grow  old  ?  Does 
old  age  need  its  apologies  and  its  defenders  ?  Is  it  a  bene- 
fit or  a  calamity  ?  Why  should  it  be  odious  and  ridiculous? 
An  old  tree  is  picturesque,  an  old  castle  venerable,  an  old 
cathedral  inspires  awe — why  should  man  be  worse  than 
his  works? 

Let  us,  in  the  first  place,  see  what  youth  is.  Is  it  so 
blessed  and  happy  and  flourishing  as  it  seems  to  us  ?  School- 
boys do  not  think  so.  They  always  wish  to  be  older.  You 
cannot  insult  one  of  them  more  than  by  telling  him  that  he 
is  a  year  or  two  younger  than  he  is.  He  fires  up  at  once : 
"  Twelve,  did  you  say,  sir  ?  No,  I  'm  fourteen."  But  men 
and  women  who  have  reached  twenty-eight  do  not  thus  add 
to  their  years.  Amongst  schoolboys,  notwithstanding  the 
general  tenor  of  those  romancists  who  see  that  every  thing 
young  bears  a  rose-colored  blush,  misery  is  prevalent 
enough.  Emerson,  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  were  each  and 
all  unhappy  boys.  They  all  had  their  rebuffs,  and  bitter, 
bitter  troubles ;  all  the  more  bitter  because  their  sensitive- 
ness was  so  acute.  Suicide  is  not  unknown  amongst  the 
young;  fears  prey  upon  them  and  terrify  them;  ignorances 
and  follies  surround  them.  Arriving  at  manhood,  we  are 
little  better  off.  If  we  are  poor,  we  mark  the  difference 
between  the  rich  and  us ;  we  see  position  gains  all  the  day. 
If  we  are  as  clever  as  Hamlet,  we  grow  just  as  philosophi- 
cally disappointed.  If  we  love,  we  can  only  be  sure  of  a 
brief  pleasure — an  April  day.  Love  has  its  bitterness.  "  It 
is/'  says  Ovid,  an  adept  in  the  matter,  "  full  of  anxious 


OLD  AGE  AND  USEFULNESS.  493 

fear."  "We  fret  and  fume  at  the  authority  of  the  wise  heads ; 
we  have  an  intense  idea  of  our  own  talent.  We  believe 
calves  of  our  own  age  to  be  as  big  and  as  valuable  as  full- 
grown  bulls ;  we  envy  whilst  we  jest  at  the  old.  We  cry, 
with  the  puffed-up  hero  of  the  Patrician's  Daughter : 

"  It  may  be  by  the  calendar  of  years 
You  are  the  elder  man ;  but  'tis  the  sun 
Of  knowledge  on  the  mind's  dial  shining  bright, 
And  chronicling  deeds  and  thoughts,  that  makes  true  time." 

And  yet  withal  life  is  very  unhappy,  whether  we  live 
amongst  the  grumbling  captains  of  the  clubs,  who  are  ever 
seeking  and  not  finding  promotion ;  amongst  the  struggling 
authors  and  rising  artists  who  never  rise;  or  among  the 
young  men  who  are  full  of  riches,  titles,  places,  and  honor, 
who  have  every  wish  fulfilled,  and  are  miserable  because 
they  have  nothing  to  wish  for.  Thus  the  young  Romans 
killed  themselves  after  the  death  of  their  emperor,  not  for 
grief,  not  for  affection,  not  even  for  the  fashion  of  suicide, 
which  grew  afterwards  prevalent  enough,  but  from  the 
simple  weariness  of  doing  every  thing  over  and  over  again. 
Old  age  has  passed  such  stages  as  these,  landed  on  a  safer 
shore,  and  matriculated  in  a  higher  college,  in  a  purer  air. 
We  sigh  not  for  impossibilities;  we  cry  not: 

"  Bring  these  anew,  and  set  me  once  again 

In  the  delusion  of  life's  infancy ; 
I  was  not  happy,  but  I  knew  not  then 
That  happy  I  was  never  doom'd  to  be." 

We  know  that  we  are  not  happy.  We  know  that  life, 
perhaps,  was  not  given  us  to  be  continuously  comfortable  and 
happy.  We  have  been  behind  the  scenes,  and  know  all  the 
illusions ;  but  when  we  are  old  we  are  far  too  wise  to  throw 
life  away  for  mere  ennui.  With  Dandolo,  refusing  a  crown 
at  ninety-six,  winning  battles  at  ninety-four;  with  Welling- 


494  BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

ton,  planning  and  superintending  fortifications  at  eighty; 
with  Bacon  and  Humboldt,  students  to  the  last  gasp;  with 
wise  old  Montaigne,  shrewd  in  his  grey-beard  wisdom  and 
loving  life,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  fits  of  gout  and  colic — 
Age  knows  far  too  much  to  act  like  a  sulky  child.  It 
knows  too  well  the  results  and  the  value  of  things  to  care 
about  them;  that  the  ache  will  subside,  the  pain  be  lulled, 
the  estate  we  coveted  be  worth  little;  the  titles,  ribbons, 
gewgaws,  honors,  be  all  more  or  less  worthless.  "Who  has 
honor  ?  He  that  died  o'  Wednesday !"  Such  a  one  passed 
us  in  the  race,  and  gained  it  but  to  fall.  We  are  still  up 
and  doing;  we  may  be  frosty  and  shrewd,  but  kindly.  We 
can  wish  all  men  well;  like  them,  too,  so  far  as  they  may 
be  liked,  and  smile  at  the  fuss,  bother,  hurry,  and  turmoil, 
which  they  make  about  matters  which  to  us  are  worthless 
dross.  The  greatest  prize  in  the  whole  market — in  any  and 
in  every  market — success,  is  to  the  old  man  nothing.  He 
little  cares  who  is  up  and  who  is  down ;  the  present  he  lives 
in  and  delights  in.  Thus,  in  one  of  those  admirable  com- 
edies in  which  Robson  acted,  we  find  the  son  a  wanderer, 
the  mother's  heart  nearly  broken,  the  father  torn  and  broken 
by  a  suspicion  of  his  son's  dishonesty,  but  the  grandfather 
all  the  while  concerned  only  about  his  gruel  and  his  hand- 
kerchief. Even  the  pains  and  troubles  incident  to  his  state 
visit  the  old  man  lightly.  Because  Southey  sat  for  months 
in  his  library,  unable  to  read  or  touch  the  books  he  loved, 
we  are  not  to  infer  that  he  was  unhappy.  If  the  stage  dark- 
ens as  the  curtain  falls,  certain  it  also  is  that  the  senses  grow 
duller  and  more  blunted.  "Do  n't  cry  for  me,  my  dear,"  said 
an  old  lady  undergoing  an  operation;  "I  do  not  feel  it." 

It  seems  to  us,  therefore,  that  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
pity  has  been  thrown  away  upon  old  age.  We  begin  at 
school  reading  Cicero's  treatise,  hearing  Cato  talk  with 


OLD  AGE  AND  USEFULNESS.  495 

Scipio  and  Lselius ;  we  hear  much  about  poor  old  men ;  we 
are  taught  to  admire  the  vigor,  quickness,  and  capacity  of 
youth  and  manhood.     We  lose  sight  of  the  wisdom  which 
age  brings  even  to  the  most  foolish.     "We  think  that  a  cir- 
cumscribed sphere  must  necessarily  be  an  unhappy  one.     It 
is  not  always  so.     What  one  abandons  in  growing  old  is, 
perhaps,  after  all  not  worth  having.     The  chief  part  of  youth 
is  but  excitement;  often  both  unwise  and  unhealthy.     The 
same  pen   which  has  written,  with  a  morbid  feeling,  that 
"  there  is  a  class  of  beings  who  do  not  grow  old  in  their  youth 
and  die  ere  middle  age,"  tells  us  also  that  "  the  best  of  life 
is  but  intoxication."     That  passes  away.     The  man  who  has 
grown  old  does  not  care  about  it.     The  author  at  that  period 
has  no  feverish  excitement  about  seeing  himself  in  print*  he 
does  not  hunt  newspapers  for  reviews  and  notices.     He  is 
content  to  wait ;  he  knows  what  fame  is  worth.     The  obscure 
man  of  science,  who   has  been  wishing  to   make  the  world 
better  and  wiser;  the  struggling  curate,  the  poor  and  hard- 
tried  man  of  God ;  the  enthusiastic  reformer,  who  has  watched 
the  sadly  slow  dawning  of  progress  and  liberty;  the  artist, 
whose  dream  of  beauty  slowly  fades  before  his  dim  eyes — all 
lay  down  their  feverish  wishes  as  they  advance  in  life,  forget 
the  bright  ideal  which  they  can  not  reach,  and  embrace  the 
more  imperfect  real.     We   speak   not  here  of  the   assured 
Christian.     He,  from  the  noblest  pinnacle  of  faith,  beholds 
a  promised  land,  and  is  eager  to  reach  it ;  he  prays  "  to  be 
delivered  from  the  body  of  this  death ;"  but  we  write  of 
those  humbler,  perhaps  more  human  souls,  with  whom  in- 
creasing age  each  day  treads  down  an  illusion.     All  feverish 
wishes,  raw  and  inconclusive  desires,  have  died  dowli,  and 
a  calm  beauty  and  peace  survive;  passions  are  dead,  temp- 
tations weakened  or  conquered;  experience  has  been  won; 
selfish  interests  are  widened  into  universal  ones;  vain,  idle 


496  BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

hopes,  have  merged  into  a  firmer  faith  or  a  complete  knowl- 
edge ;  and  more  light  has  broken  in  upon  the  soul's  dark  cot- 
tage, battered  and  decayed,  "  through  chinks  which  Time 
has  made." 

Again,  old  men  are  valuable,  not  only  as  relics  of  the 
past,  but  as  guides  and  prophets  for  the  future.  They  know 
the  pattern  of  every  turn  of  life's  kaleidoscope.  The  colors 
merely  fall  into  new  shapes;  the  ground-work  is  just  the 
same.  The  good  which  a  calm,  kind,  and  cheerful  old  man 
can  do  is  incalculable.  And  whilst  he  does  good  to  others, 
he  enjoys  himself.  He  looks  not  unnaturally  to  that  which 
should  accompany  old  age — honor,  love,  obedience,  troops 
of  friends;  and  he  plays  his  part  in  the  comedy  or  tragedy 
of  life  with  as  much  gusto  as  any  one  else.  Old  Montague, 
or  Capulet,  and  old  Polonius,  that  wise  maxim-man,  enjoy 
themselves  quite  as  well  as  the  moody  Hamlet,  the  per- 
turbed Laertes,  or  even  gallant  Mercutio  or  love-sick  Romeo. 
Friar  Lawrence,  who  is  a  good  old  man,  is  perhaps  the 
happiest  of  all  in  the  dramatis  personce — unless  we  take 
the  gossiping,  garrulous  old  nurse,  with  her  sunny  recollec- 
tions of  maturity  and  youth.  The  great  thing  is  to  have  the 
mind  well  employed,  to  work  whilst  it  is  yet  day.  The  pre- 
cise Duke  of  Wellington,  answering  every  letter  with  "  F.  M. 
presents  his  compliments;"  the  wondrous  worker Humboldt^ 
with  his  orders  of  knighthood,  stars,  and  ribbons,  lying  dusty 
in  his  drawer,  still  contemplating  Cosmos,  and  answering  his 
thirty  letters  a  day — were  both  men  in  exceedingly  enviable, 
happy  positions ;  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
could  look  back  quietly  over  the  rough  road  which  they  had 
traveled.  We  are  not  all  Humboldts  or  Wellingtons;  but 
we  can  all  be  busy  and  good.  Experience  must  teach  us  all 
a  great  deal ;  and  if  it  only  teaches  us  not  to  fear  the  future, 
not  to  cast  a  maundering  regret  over  the  past,  we  can  be  as 


OLD  AGE  AND  USEFULNESS.  497 

happy  in  old  age — ay,  and  far  more  so — than  we  were  in  youth 
We  are  no  longer  the  fools  of  time  and  error.  We  are  leav- 
ing by  slow  degrees  the  old  world;  we  stand  upon  the  thres- 
hold of  the  new;  not  without  hope,  but  without  fear,  in  an 
exceedingly  natural  position,  with  nothing  strange  or  dread- 
ful* about  it;  with  our  domain  drawn  within  a  narrow  circle, 
but  equal  to  our  power.  Muscular  strength,  organic  instincts, 
are  all  gone ;  but  what  then?  We  do  not  want  them  ;  we  are 
getttng  ready  for  the  great  change,  one  which  is  just  as  neces- 
sary as  it  was  to  be  born ;  and  to  a  little  child  perhaps  one 
is  not  a  whit  more  painful — perhaps  not  so  painful  as  the 
other.  The  wheels  of  Time  have  brought  us  to  the  goal ;  we 
are  about  to  rest  while  others  labor,  to  stay  at  home  while 
others  wander.  We  touch  at  last  the  mysterious  door — are 
we  to  be  pitied  or  to  be  envied  ? 

The  desert  of  the  life  behind, 
Has  almost  faded  from  my  mind, 
It  has  so  many  fair  oases 
Which  unto  me  are  holy  places. 

It  seems  like  consecrated  ground, 
Where  silence  counts  for  more  than  sound, 
That  way  of  all  my  past  endeavor 
Which  I  shall  tread  no  more  forever. 

And  God  I  was  too  blind  to  see, 

I  now,  somewhat  from  blindness  free, 

Discern  as  ever-present  glory, 

Who  holds  all  past  and  future  story. 

Eternity  is  all  in  all ; 
Time,  birth  and  death,  ephemeral — 
Point  where  a  little  bird  alighted, 
Then  fled  lest  it  should  be  benighted. 

32 


LV. 


(Ai.i.  BRAND  NEW) 
SUITABLE  FOR  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUMS. 


As  free  as  fancy  and  reason, 
And  writ  for  many  a  season; 
In  neither  spirit  nor  letter 
To  aught  but  beauty  a  debtor. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

The  reader  knows 

His  woes. 
How  oft  "some  one  has  blundered !" 

How  oft  a  thought 

Is  caught, 
And  rhyme  and  reason  sundered! 

With  line  and  hook, 

Just  look ! 
And  see  a  swimming  hundred — 

A  school  of  rhymes 

And  chimes 
As  free  as  summer  air. 

So,  if  you  wish 

To  fish, 
Please  angle  anywhere. 

I. 

Thou  pet  of  modern  art, 
Since  I  the  spell  have  broken, 

Now  on  thy  journey  start, 
And  gather  many  a  token 

From  many  an  honest  heart, 
The  best  or  thought  or  spoken. 
498 


II. 

Go  forth,  thou  little  book, 
And  seek  that  wondrous  treasure, 

Affection's  word  and  look, 
Which  only  heaven  can  measure. 

III. 

This  Album  comes  a-tapping 
At  many  a  friendly  door ; 

Yea,  gently,  gently  rapping — 

"  Hast  aught  for  me  in  store? 

Dear  Love  and  Truth  I  show, 
To  point  a  life's  endeavor — 

Thanks  for  thy  heart !  I  go 
And  bear  it  on  forever." 

IV. 

"  Whose  name  was  writ  in  water !" 

It  was  not  so  of  Keats. 
How  many  a  son  and  daughter 

His  gentle  name  repeats! 
And  Friendship  and  Affection 

Will  keep  thy  name  as  bright, 
If  Beauty  give  protection 

And  wed  thee  to  the  Right. 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


499 


V. 

So  you  desire  my  heart! 

Well,  take  it— and  depart. 

It  is  not  cold  and  heavy, 
It  is  not  light, 
Seeks  to  be  right, 

And  answers  Beauty's  levy. 

VI. 

Be  it  a  fable  or  rumor, 

Or  an  old  device, 
Tis  true;  gentle  wit  and  humor 

Are  as  good  as  cold  advice. 

VH. 

This  dainty  little  Album  thine 

Is  of  a  quality  so  fine 

That  happy  Laughter  here    may 

write, 
And  all  the  pages  still  be  white. 

VIII. 

There  is  no  open  mart 
In  which  to  sell  a  heart, 

For  none  the  price  can  pay ; 

So  mine  I  give  away, 
Since  I  with  it  must  part — 

'Tis  thine,  my  friend,  for  aye. 
"  Do  I  not  feel  the  lack, 

And  want  to  get  it  back  ?" 
No,  no !  for  kindly  Heaven 
A  better  one  has  given. 

IX. 

There  is  a  cup,  I  know, 
Which,  full  to  overflow, 
Has  yet  the  space  to  hold 
Its  measure  many  fold  ; 
And  when  from  it  I  drink, 
It  is  so  sweet  to  think — 
What  it  retains  is  more 


Than  all  it  held  before. 
If  you  my  riddle  guess, 
You  surely  will  confess 
The  greater  in  the  less, 
Which  is  our  blessedness. 

X. 

Dost  give  away  thy  heart, 
With  all  its  sweet  perfume  ? 

Angels  dwell  where  thou  art, 
The  more,  the  greater  room. 

XI. 

A  life  lost  in  a  life — 
True  husband  or  true  wife — 
A  life  come  back  again 
As  with  a  shining  train. 

XII. 

A  cheery  maiden's  love 
As  large  as  heaven  and  earth — 

That  were  a  gift  to  prove 
How  much  this  life  is  worth. 

XIII. 

Fast  by  Eternal  Truth, 
And  on  a  sunny  mountain, 
Springs  that  perennial  fountain 

Which  gives  immortal  youth ; 
And  all  who  bathe  therein 
Are  washed  from  every  sin. 

XIV. 

It  is  to  do  the  best, 

Unmindful  of  reward, 
Which  brings  the  sweetest  rest 

And  nearness  to  the  Lord ; 
And  this  has  been  thy  aim, 

And  will  be  to  the  end, 
Knows  she  who  writes  her  name 

As  thy  unchanging  friend. 


500 


BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


XV. 

Words — words— and  pen  and  ink, 
But  not  a  thought  to  think ! 
And  yet,  perhaps,  perchance, 
Who  knows  his  ignorance 
Is  not  the  greatest  fool, 
Although  long  out  of  school. 

XVI. 

Our  greatest  glory,  friend, 

Is  chiefly  found  herein — 
That  when  we  fall,  offend, 

We  quickly  rise  from  sin, 
And  make  the  very  shame, 
Which  gathered  round  our  name 
Like  many  scorpion  rings, 
The  stairs  to  better  things 
In  that  high  citadel 
Which  has  a  warning  bell. 

XVII. 

Whence  honor,  wealth,  or  fame, 
Which  God  delights  to  see  ? 

Out  of  a  blameless  name, 
Born  of  Eternity. 
And  these  are  prizes 
At  God's  assizes, 
Reported  day  by  day, 
Which  no  man  takes  away. 

XVIII. 

Life  is  movement,  action, 
Joy,  and  benefaction. 
Rest  is  bravely  doing, 
While  the  past  reviewing, 
Still  the  years  forecasting 
With  the  Everlasting. 
Such  be  days  of  thine, 
Such  thy  rest  divine. 


XIX. 

The  brook's  joy 
Does  not  cloy. 
Too  much  sun, 
Too  much  rain ; 
Work  is  done 
Not  in  vain. 
Sun  receives 
And  cloud  leaves 
Just  enough. 
Skies  are  black 
And  winds  rough, 
Yet  no  lack 
Of  good  will ; 
For  'tis  still 
Understood 
God  is  good. 

XX. 

The  brook's  rest 
Is  rest  indeed ; 
The  brook's  quest 

Is  daily  need. 
Thoughts  of  to-morrow 
They  bring  no  sorrow ; 
And  so  it  babbles  away, 
And  does  the  work  of  to-day. 

XXI. 

The  brook  knows  the  joy 
Down  in  the  heart  of  a  boy, 
And  the  swallow  kens  the  whirl 
Up  in  the  head  of  a  girl. 

XXII. 

How  many  a  psalm  is  heard 
From  yon  rejoicing  bird, 
That  finds  its  daily  food 
And  feels  that  God  is  good! 
That  little  life's  employ 
Is  toil  and  song  and  joy. 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


501 


Hast  music  in  thy  heart, 
0  toiler  day  by  day, 
Along  life's  rugged  way? 

Then  what  thou  hast  thou  art. 

XXIII. 

True,  Good,  and  Beautiful ! 

A  perfect  line 
Of  love  and  sainthood  full — 

And  it  is  thine. 

XXIV. 

Thou  doest  well,  dear  friend, 

Thy  labor  is  not  lost. 
As  notes  in  music  blend, 

So  here  Affection  's  host. 
Their  names  thy  book  within, 

Their  thoughts  of  love  and  truth, 
Are  worth  the  cost  to  win — 

First  trophies  of  thy  youth. 
This  little  Album  thine 
Suggests  to  Book  Divine — 
The  Book  of  Life,  God's  own. 

What  names  are  written  there ! 
What  names  are  there  unknown ! 

Hast  thou  no  thought  or  care  ? 
I  do  thee  wrong  to  ask — 
God  speed  the  nobler  task 
Until  thy  labor  prove 
Indeed  a  work  of  love  I 

XXV. 

True  friends 
Are  through  friends 
To  the  next  world — 
That  unvexed  world. 
What  will  friends  be  good  for 
When  the  witness  is  needless  they 
stood  for? 


XXVI. 

Wouldst  have  another  gem 
In  Friendship's  diadem? 
Then  take  this  name  of  mine; 
Thy  light  will  make  it  shine. 

XXVII. 

Thou  comest  beauty-laden, 
Thou  sprightly  little  maiden, 
And  dancing  everywhere 
Like  sunbeams  in  the  air ; 
And  for  thy  cheery  laugh 
Here  is  my  autograph. 

XXVIII. 

Something  for  nothing  ?    No ! 

A  false  device. 
For  all  things  here  below 

We  pay  the  price. 
For  even  grace  we  pay, 

Which  is  so  free ; 
And  I  have  earned  to-day 

A  smile  from  thee. 

XXIX. 

Friend,  make  good  use  of  time ! 

Eternity  sublime 

Is  cradled  in  its  use, 

And  Time  allows  no  truce. 

The  past,  with  shadowy  pall, 

Is  gone  beyond  recall ; 

To-morrow  is  not  thine; 
To-day  is  all  thou  hast, 
Which  will  not  always  last: 

Make  thou  to-day  divine  ! 

XXX. 

Every  hour  a  duty 
Brings  thee  from  the  courts  on  high. 

Every  hour  a  beauty 
Waits  her  transit  to  the  sky ; 


502 


BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


Waits  till  thou  adorn  her 
With  the  glory  of  thy  heart, 

Or  until  thou  scorn  her — 
Shall  she  with  thy  sin  depart? 

XXXI. 

If  you  seek  in  life  success, 

Own  yourself  the  instrument 
Which  the  Lord  alone  can  bless, 

And  the  world  as  helper  meant ; 
Perseverance  as  your  friend 

And  experience  your  eyes, 
Onward  press  to  reach  your  end, 

Resting  not  with  any  prize ; 
Counting  it  a  joy  to  lend 

Unto  Him  who  sanctifies. 

XXXII. 

That  day  is  lost  forever, 

Whose  golden  sun 
Beholds  through  thine  endeavor 

No  goodness  done. 

XXXIII. 

Count  not  thy  life  by  heart-throbs; 

He  thinks  and  lives  the  most 
Who  with  the  noblest  actions 

Adorns  his  chosen  post. 

XXXIV. 

The  secret  of  the  world, 
Although  in  light  impearled, 
No  one  can  e'er  discover, 
No  one — except  a  lover. 
To  him  are  given  new  eyes 
In  self's  true  sacrifice. 

XXXV. 

If  Love  is  blind 

And  overlooks  small  things, 
He  has  a  mind 

To  apprehend  all  things. 


XXXVI. 

As  Love  sails  down  life's  river 

He  from  his  gleaming  quiver 
Shoots  into  every  heart 
A  strange  and  nameless  smart. 

How  is  thy  heart  protected? 

The  wound  is  unsuspected ! 

XXXVII. 

Dost  thou  truly  love  ? 
Nothing  hard  can  prove, 
All  the  stress  and  rigor 
Doth  thy  heart  transfigure. 

XXXVIII. 

Love  is  the  key  of  joy 
Which  keeps  the  man  a  boy 
When  outward  things  decay 
And  all  his  locks  are  gray. 

XXXIX. 

Of  Heaven  below 

Which  is  so  sweet  to  know, 
And  Heaven  above , 

The  title-deed  is  love. 

XL. 

Who  is  bravest 

Of  my  four  friends? 
Thou  that  slavest, 

And  self  all  spends ; 
Thou  that  savest, 

And  usest  never ; 
Thou  that  cravest, 

With  no  endeav-or, 
Thou  that  gavest, 

And  hast  forever? 

XLI. 

Numen 
Lumen, 

I  can  do  without  praise, 
I  can  do  without  money: 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


503 


I  have  found  other  honey 

To  sweeten  my  days; 
And  the  Kaiser  may  wear  his  gold 

crown 
While  I  onhissplendor  look  down. 

XLII. 

God  thy  Light! 
Then  is  Right 
Life's  own  polar  star ; 
All  thy  fortunes  are 
Gifts  that  come  from  Him, 
Filling  to  the  brim 
Life's  great  golden  cup, 
And  thy  heart  looks  up ! 

XLIII. 

A  debtor  to  hate, 

A  debtor  to  money, 
Forever  may  wait 

And  never  have  honey. 
A  debtor  to  love 

And  sweet  benefaction, 
Hath  treasures  above, 

A  heart's  satisfaction. 

XL1V. 

God  is  a  liberal  lender 

To  those  who  use, 

But  not  abuse, 

And  daily  statements  render; 
And  here's  the  beauty  of  it — 
He  lends  again  the  profit ! 

XLV. 

Days  of  heroic  will 
Which  God  and  duty  fill, 
Are  evermore  sublime 
Memorials  of  Time. 
That  such  thy  days  may  be 
Is  my  best  wish  for  tb.ee. 


XLV1. 

Self-sacrifice 
Finds  Paradise ; 
Hearts  that  rebel 
Are  gates  of  Hell. 
Goals  of  all  races 
Are  these  two  places. 

XLVII. 

The  blushes  of  roses 
And  all  that  reposes 
Sublime  in  a  hero 
Affixed  by  his  zero— 
Ah,  you  will  complete  him, 
As  soon  as  you  meet  him. 

XLVIII. 

Maidens  passing  into  naught, 
What  a  work  by  them  is  wrought ! 

Not  prefixes, 

But  affixes 

On  the  better  side  of  men — 
See  !  they  multiply  by  ten. 

XLIX. 

The  golden  key  of  life, 
True  maiden  crowned  a  wife. 
What  then  are  toil  and  trouble, 
With  strength  to  meet  them,  double? 

L. 

True  Heaven  begins  on  earth 
Around  a  common  hearth, 
Or  in  a  humble  heart — 
Thy  faith  means  what  thou  art, 
And  that  which  thou  wouldst  be; 
Thou  makest  it,  it  thee. 

LI. 

No  Heaven  in  Truth  and  Love? 
Then  do  not  look  above. 


504 


BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


Yet  Truth  and  Love  have  wings, 
Although  the  highest  things ; 

Therewith  to  mount,  dear  friend, 
Is  life  that  has  no  end. 

LI  I. 

Art  thou  a  mourner  here? 
But  One  can  give  thee  cheer : 
Affliction  turns  to  grace 
Before  the  Master's  face. 
LIU. 

My  friend,  my  troubled  friend, 
If  true,  Love  has  not  found  you, 

Then  I  can  comprehend 
That  Duty  has  not  bound  you. 

LIV. 

Love  is  the  source  of  duty, 

The  parent  of  all  life, 
Which  Heaven  pronounces  beauty, 

The  crown  of  man  and  wife, 
Beginning  and  the  end 
To  hero,  saint,  and  friend ; 
An  inspiration  which 
Is  so  abundant,  rich, 
That  from  the  finger-tips 
And  from  the  blooming  lips, 
Yea,  from  the  voiceful  eyes, 
In  questions  and  replies — 
From  every  simple  action 
And  hourly  benefaction 
It  pours  itself  away, 
A  gladness  day  by  day, 
Exhaustless  as  the  sun, 
Work  done  and  never  done. 
Arid  I  have  painted  you, 
O  maiden  fair  and  true! 

LV. 

The  voice  of  God  is  love, 
As  all  who  listen  prove. 
Be  thou  assured  of  this, 
Or  life's  chief  comfort  miss. 


LVI. 

"  0  is  not  love  a  marvel 
Which  one  can  not  unravel  ? 
Behold  its  bitter  fruit ! 
Ah,  that  kind  does  not  suit." 
My  friend,  I  'in  not  uncivil — 
Self  makes  of  love  a  devil, 
And  it  is  love  no  more ; 
His  guise  love  never  wore, 
But  Satan  steals  the  guise 
Of  love  for  foolish  eyes — 
Therein  the  danger  lies, 
But  do  not  be  too  wise. 
Dost  wait  for  perfect  good 
In  man  or  womanhood  ? 
Then  thou  must  onward  press 
In  single  blessedness, 
And  find,  perhaps  too  late, 
Love  dies  without  a  mate — 
Perhaps  this  better  fate 
When  love  a  banquet  makes 
Which  all  the  world  partakes, 
Proved  never  out  of  date. 

LVII. 

Prove  all  things — even  love 
Thou  must  needs  prove. 
But  let  the  touch  be  fine 
That  tests  a  thing  divine. 
Yea,  let  the  touch  be  tender ; 
True  love  will  answer  render. 

LVIII. 

'Tis  Give-and-take, 

Not  Take-and-give, 
That  seeks  to  make 

Folk  blessed  live. 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

Invisible. 
Yet  on  thy  brow 

His  name  I  spell. 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


505 


LIX. 

Bear-and-forbear, 

To  make  folk  blest, 
Seeks  everywhere 

To  be  a  guest. 
Angelic  one, 

Who  art  so  near, 
Thy  will  be  done, 

Both  now  and  here. 

LX. 

Comes  knowledge 

At  college ; 

Wisdom  comes  later, 

And  is  the  greater. 

Art  thou  of  both  possessed  ? 

Then  art  thou  richly  blest. 

LXI. 

What  can  I  wish  thee  better 
Thau  that  through  all  thy  days, 
The  spirit,  not  the  letter, 
Invite  thy  blame  or  praise? 
Seek  ever  to  unroll 
The  substance  or  the  soul; 
If  that  be  fair  and  pure, 
It  will,  and  must  endure ; 
And  lo !  the  homely  dress 
Grows  into  loveliness. 

LXII. 

Into  the  heart  of  man 
The  things  that  bless  or  ban ; 
Out  of  the  life  he  lives, 
The  boon  or  curse  he  gives. 
Guard  well  thy  open  heart, 
What  enters  must  depart. 

LX1II. 

Is  this — is  this  thine  album  ? 
'T  is  nothing  but  a  sign 
Of  something  more  divine. 


Thou  art  the  real  album, 
And  on  its  wondrous  pages 
Is  writ  thy  daily  wages. 
Thou  canst  not  blot  a  word, 
Much  less  tear  out  a  leaf. 
But  all  thy  prayers  are  heard, 
And  every  pain  and  grief 
May  be  to  thee  as  stairs 
To  better  things,  until 
Thou  readiest,  unawares, 
The  Master's  mind  and  will. 

LXIV.. 

Seek  thou  for  true  friends, 
Aim  thou  at  true  ends, 
With  God  above  them  all ; 
Then,  as  the  shadows  lengthen, 
Will  thy  endurance  strengthen, 
With  heaven  thy  coronal. 

LXV. 

Ten  thousand  eyes  of  night, 
One  Sovereign  Eye  above ; 
Ten  thousand  rays  of  light, 
One  central  fire  of  Love. 
No  eyes  of  night  appear, 
God's  Eye  is  never  closed ; 
No  rays  of  light  to  cheer, 
For  self  hath  interposed. 
Yet  Love's  great  fire  is  bright 
By  day  as  well  as  night. 

LXVI. 

0  we  remember 

In  leafy  June, 
And  white  December 

Love's  gentle  tune ; 
For  nevermore, 
On  any  shore,  • 

Is  life  the  same 
As  ere  love  came. 


506 


BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


LXVII. 

And  this  is  the  day 
My  child  cape  down  from  heaven, 

And  this  is  the  way 
The  sweetest  kiss  is  given. 

LXVIII. 

Thy  natal  day,  my  dear ! 

Good  heart,  good  words  for  cheer, 

And  kisses  now  and  here, 

With  love  through  many  a  year ! 

LX1X. 

Earthly  duty, 
Heavenly  heauty. 

LXX. 

Truth !  her  story 

Is  God's  glory ; 

Her  triumph  on  the  earth, 

Man's  heavenly  birth. 

LXXI. 

What 's  in  a  name? 

A  symbol  of  reality, 
All  human  fame, 

And  God's  originality. 

LXXI  I. 

Thou  art  so  neat  and  trim, 
So  modest  and  so  wise, 
Such  gladness  in  thine  eyes, 
Thou  art  a  prize — for  him, 
And  for  the  world,  I  think ; 
So  here  thy  health  I  drink, 
O  mother  Eve's  fair  daughter, 
In  this  good  cup  of  water. 

LXXIII. 

All,  all  thou  art 

Is  in  thy  heart; 
Thy  mind  is  but  a  feeder, 
Thy  heart  alone  the  leader. 


LXXIV. 

If  you  want  a  fellow, 
Not  too  ripe  and  mellow, 
Just  a  little  green, 
Courteous,  never  mean, 
One  who  has  a  will 
For  the  steepest  hill, 
And  can  rule  a  wife, 
Love  her  as  his  life, 
And  from  fortune's  frown 
Weave  a  blessed  crown, 
Then  you  want  the  best ; 
Win  him,  and  be  blest 

LXXV. 

If  you  wish  a  dandy, 
Moustache  curled  and  sandy, 
Just  the  thing  for  parties, 
Who,  so  trim  and  handy, 
Knows  not  where  his  heart  is, 
Whether  with  your  banker, 
Or  for  you  it  hanker, 
Why,  then  take  the  dude ; 
Naught  is  void  of  good. 

LXXVI. 

His  faults  are  many — 

Hast  thou  not  any  ? 

But  how  will  the  bundles  mix  ? 

Is  a  question  for  Doctor  Dix, 

For  both  were  picked  up  at  Ann 
Arbor. 

LXXVII. 

I  can  not  wish  thee  better 
In  a  world  of  many  a  sorrow, 
Than  that  thou  be  a  debtor 
To  only  love  and  to-morrow. 
Then  pain  has  little  anguish, 
And  life  no  time  to  languish, 
When  debts  are  paid  to  Heaven, 
And  grace  sufficient  for  thee 
Thy  daily  strength  has  given  ; 
For  all  is  bright  before  thee. 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


507 


LXXVIII. 

Seek  not  for  happiness, 
But  just  to  do  thy  duty ; 

And  then  will  blessedness 
Impart  her  heavenly  beauty. 

LXXIX. 

Indulge  no  selfish  ease, 
Each  golden  hour  employ, 

Seek  only  God  to  please, 
And  thou  shalt  life  enjoy ; 

Yea,  thou  shalt  then  please  all, 

And  blessings  on  thee  fall. 

LXXX. 

To  use  thy  time  discreetly, 
To  show  forbearance  sweetly, 
To  do  thy  duty  neatly, 
To  trust  in  God  completely, 
Is  good  advice  to  give, 
And  best  of  all  to  live. 

LXXXI. 

If  words  are  light  as  cloud  foam, 

So  too  is  mountain  air ; 
If  in  the  air  is  beauty, 

So  too  may  words  be  fair. 
If  in  the  air  contagion, 

Distemper  words  may  bear. 
Our  words  are  real  things, 

And  full  of  good  or  ill ; 
The  tongue  that  heals  or  stings, 

So  needs  the  Master's  will ! 

LXXXII. 

The  world  has  many  a  fool, 
The  schemer  many  a  tool ; 
A  mirror  shows  them, 
The  wise  man  knows  them. 
Ten  thousand  disguises, 
Ten  thousand  surprises. 
In  wisdom  is  detection, 
In  righteousness  protection. 


LXXXIIf. 

To  do  good  to  another 

Is  thy  self  to  well  serve; 
And  to  succor  thy  brother 

For  thyself  is  fresh  nerve 
And  new  strength  for  the  battle, 
In  the  dash  and  the  rattle, 
When  thy  foes  press  thee  hard, 
And  thy  all  thou  must  guard. 

LXXXIV. 

Canst  show  a  finer  touch, 

A  grain  of  purer  lore — 
"I  could  not  love  thee,dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I  not  honor  more  ?" 

LXXXV. 

Frittered  away, 

Grace  to  begin 
Duty  to-day — 

Wages  of  sin ! 
Truth  out  of  sight, 

Falsehood  crept  in, 
Wrong  put  for  right — 

Wages  of  sin. 
Self  become  god, 

Eager  to  win 
All  at  its  nod — 

Wages  of  sin. 
Scorn  of  the  seer, 

Vanity's  grin, 
Darkness  grown  dear — 

Wages  of  sin. 
Trouble  without, 

Canker  within, 
Fear,  hate,  and  doubt — 

Wages  of  sin. 
What  is  to  be, 

All  that  has  been, 
Shadows  that  flee — 

Wages  of  sin. 


508 


BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


Loss  of  the  soul, 
Wrangle  and  din, 

Tragedy's  dole — 
Wages  of  sin. 

Warning  enough ! 

(Mortals  are  kin) 
Ragged  and  rough 

Wages  of  sin! 

LXXXVI. 

Words  great  to  express  Him, 

Eevealer 

And  Healer, 

By  these  ye  confess  Him. 
Enough,  this  beginning  ? 

Before  ye 

The  glory 

Known  only  in  winning. 
In  deed-bearing  Duty 

Behold  Him, 

Enfold  Him, 
The  King  in  his  Beauty ; 
Until  ye  discover 

How  meetly, 

How  sweetly 
He  rules  as  a  Lover ! 
And  then  will  confession, 

O  new  men, 

Now  true  men, 
Be  one  with  possession. 

LXXXVII. 

O  wouldst  thou  know 

The  rarity 

Of  Charity? 
Thyself  forego! 
Then  will  the  field, 

To  God  inviting, 

To  man  requiting, 
Sweet  harvest  yield. 


LXXXVIII. 

In  consecration 

To  single-hearted  toil 
Is  animation, 

Yea,-  life's  true  wine  and  oil ; 
And  that  vocation 

Which  heart  and  mind  secures 
Hath  consolation 

That  verily  endures. 

LXXXIX. 

To  fast  and  pray 
The  live-long  day 

Is  preparation — 
O  doubt  it  not! 
For  some  high  lot, 
But  in  thy  deed, 
Not  in  thy  creed, 

Is  consummation. 

XC. 

It  is  the  cheerful  heart 
That  finds  the  key  of  gold, 

The  bravely-acted  part 
Which  gets  the  grip  and  hold, 

And  opens  wide  the  door 
Where  treasures  are  unrolled 

Thine  eager  eyes  before. 

Then  life  is  evermore 

A  strife  for  wealth  untold. 

God  keep  thee  true  and  bold ! 

XCI. 

Sometimes  our  failures  here 

Are  God's  successes ; 
And  things  that  seemed  so  drear 

His  sweet  caresses. 
It  is  our  Father's  hand 

That  gives  our  wages, 
Before  us  many  a  land 

And  all  the  ages. 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


509 


And  shall  we  forfeit  hope 
Because  the  fountains 

Are  up  the  mighty  slope 
Of  yonder  mo'untains? 

XCII. 

The  storm  is  raging. 

The  sun  is  shining, 
And  both  presaging 

Some  true  refining ; 
Through  them  are  passing 

The  hosts  forever, 
All  wealth  amassing 

Through  brave  endeavor. 

XCIII. 

0  trees,  rejoicing  trees, 
Along  my  path  to-day 

1  hear  your  quiet  melodies, 
And  care  all  charmed  away, 

I  catch  your  mood, 
Dear  forest  brotherhood. 
O  trees,  rejoicing  trees, 

Arrayed  in  springtide  dress, 
How  full  ye  are  of  prophecies 
Of  everlastingness ! 
I  find  a  balm 
In  your  rejoicing  psalm. 
O  trees,  rejoicing  trees, 

In  living  green  so  grand, 
Like  saints  with  grateful  memories, 
Ye  bless  the  Father's  hand ; 
Which  stripped  you  bare 
To  make  you  now  so  fair. 

O  trees,  rejoicing  trees, 

Who  have  another  birth, 
Through  you  my  bounding  spirit 

sees 

The  day  beyond  the  earth, 
Eternity 
So  calm,  so  fair,  so  free. 


0  trees,  rejoicing  trees. 
Dear  children  of  the  Lord, 

1  thank  you  for  the  ministries 
Which  ye  to  me  accord ; 

New  life  and  light 
Burst  from  my  wintry  night! 
O  friend,  rejoicing  friend, 

A  better  poem  thou 
To  hint  the  joys  that  have  no  end 
Through  gladness  here  and  now. 
Be  thou  to  me 
Perpetual  prophecy ! 

XCIV. 

The  battle  is  set, 

The  field  to  be  won ; 
What  foes  have  you  met, 

What  work  have  you  done  ? 
To  courage  alone 

Does  victory  come ; 
To  coward  and  drone 

Nor  country  nor  home  I 

xcv. 

For  thee,  of  blessed  name, 
I  ask  not  wealth  or  fame, 
Nor  that  thy  path  may  be 
From  toil  and  trouble  free ; 
For  toil  is  everywhere, 
Some  trouble  all  must  bear, 
And  wealth  and  fame  are  naught, 
With  better  stuff  unwrought — 
I  crave  for  thy  dear  heart 
Eternal  Duty's  part. 
For  then  indeed  I  know 
Thy  pathway  here  below 
Will  bloom  with  roses  fair, 
And  beauty  everywhere; 
And  this  will  be  enough 
When  winds  are  wild  and  rough, 
To  keep  thy  heart  in  peace. 


510 


BRA  VE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


XCVI. 

All  things  to-day  have  voices, 
To  tell  the  joy  of  heaven, 
Which  unto  earth  is  given ; 
This  Winter  flower  rejoices, 
This  snowy  hellebore 
Which  blooms  for  evermore 
On  merry  Christmas  Day, 
Reminding  us  of  One 
Here  born  a  Virgin's  Son, 
To  take  our  sins  away. 
The  death  its  leaves  within 
Is  but  the  death  of  sin ; 
Which  death  to  die  was  born 
The  pure  and  guiltless  Child 
Who  Justice  reconciled 
And  oped  the  gates  of  morn, 
What  time  a  crimson  flame 
Throughout  a  word  of  shame 
Did  purge  away  the  dross, 
And  leave  the  blood-red  gold, 
Whose  worth  can  not  be  told, 
He  purchased  on  the  cross! 
And  thus  a  prophecy 
Of  Him  on  Calvary, 
Who  takes  our  sins  away, 
Is  this  fair  snow-white  flower 
Which  has  of  death  the  power, 
And  blooms  on  Christmas  Day. 

XCVII. 

True  friendship  writes  thee  here 

A  birthday  souvenir: 
All  blessings  on  thee,  dear, 

For  this  and  many  a  year ! 

XCVIII. 

A  myth  that  grew  within  the  brain 
Relates  that  Eden's  bowers 

Did  not,  'mid  all  their  wealth, 

contain 
The  glory  of  the  flowers ; 


Because  there  were  no  opened  eyes 

To  take  that  glory  in, 
The  sweet  and  innocent  surprise 

Which  looks  rebuke  to  sin ; 

For    Love,    and    Innocence,    and 

Truth 

There  made  their  dwelling- 
place, 
Than   which  fair  three  immortal 

Youth 
Required  no  other  grace. 

But  when  through  sin  the  happy 
seat 

Was  lost  to  wretched  man, 
Our  Lord,  redeeming  love  to  meet, 

Redeeming  work  began : 

The  flowers,  which  have  a  language 

now, 

Shall  deck  the  weary  earth, 
And,  while  men  'neath  their  bur- 
dens bow, 
Remind  them  of  their  birth ; 

And,  with  their  vernal  beauty  rife, 
To  all  the  Gospel  preach, 

The  Resurrection  and  the  Life, 
In  sweet,  persuasive  speech. 

XCIX. 

Reader!  if  thou  hast  found 
Thy  life  to  reach  and  sound, 
Some  thought  among  these  rhymes, 
My  school  of  rhymes  and  chimes, 
Then  this,  I  pray  tfiee,  con: 
Somewhat  to  feed  upon 
It  has — a  kind  of  lunch, 
Served  with  Olympian  punch, 
To  brace  thee  every  night, 
And  make  thy  mornings  bright — 
Complines  at  even-song 
To  make  thee  brave  and  strong : 


RHYMES  AND  CHIMES. 


511 


SUNDAY  MIGHT. 

Thou,  Father,  givest  sleep 
So  calm,  so  sweet,  so  deep ; 
And  all  Thy  children  share 
Thy  goodness  everywhere, 
And  to  Thy  likeness  grow 
Who  love  to  others  show. 
Grant  me  more  love,  I  pray, 
Than  I  have  shown  to-day. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 

MONDAY  NIGHT. 

Before  I  go  to  sleep, 
That  I  in  joy  may  reap, 
Lord,  take  the  tares  away 
Which  I  have  sown  to-day, 
Productive  make  the  wheat, 
For  Thine  own  garner  meet, 
And  give  me  grace  to-morrow 
To  sow  no  seeds  of  sorrow. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 

TUESDAY  NIGHT. 

While  I  am  wrapped  in  sleep, 
And  others  watch  and  weep, 
Dear  Lord,  remember  them, 
Their  flood  of  sorrow  stem, 
Take  all  their  grief  away, 
Turn  Thou  their  night  to  day, 
Until  in  Thee  they  rest 
Who  art  of  friends  the  best. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 


WEDNESDAY  NIGHT. 

Night  is  for  prayer  and  sleep  ! 
Behind  the  western  steep 
Now  has  the  sun  gone  down 
With  his  great  golden  crown. 
0  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
Arise !   Thy  children  bless ; 
With  healing  in  thy  wings 
Cure  all  our  evil  things. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 

THURSDAY  NIGHT. 

While  I  am  safe  asleep, 
Good  Shepherd  of  the  sheep, 
If  some  poor  lamb  of  Thine 
Stray  from  the  Fold  Divine 
Into  the  desert  night, 
In  the  sweet  morning  light, 
Choose  me  to  bring  it  thence 
Through  Thy  dear  providence. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 

FRIDAY  NIGHT. 

That  I  may  sweetly  sleep, 
Thy  child,  0  Father,  keep 
To  wake  and  love  thee  more 
Than  I  have  done  before. 
And  do  Thou  prosper  all 
Who  on  Thy  goodness  call, 
And  take  their  sins  away 
Who  have  not  learned  to  pray. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 


512 


BRAVE  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


SATURDAY  NIGHT. 
If  death  upon  me  creep 
While  I  in  darkness  sleep, 
Dear  Lord !  whose  time  is  best, 
Be  Thou  my  bed  and  rest ! 
Then  at  Thy  smile  of  light 
Will  my  dark  cell  grow  bright, 
And  angel-sentinels 
Ring  the  sweet  morning  bells. 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Dove, 
Dear  Trinity  of  Love, 
Hear  Thou  my  even-song 
And  keep  me  brave  and  strong. 

C. 

There  is  no  bitterness 

Without  some  lump  of  sweet; 
Without  some  blessedness 

There  is  no  sad  defeat. 


And  there  is  no  confusion 
Without  some  order  fair, 

No  infinite  diffusion 
But  unity  is  there. 

The  goodness  of  the  Lord 
Is  round  about  us  here ; 

Beholding  it  reward 
To  fill  the  heart  with  cheer. 

All  things  are  ever  tending 
To  some  divine  event, 

The  sweet  and  bitter  blending 
With  some  divine  intent. 

All  things  are  ever  tending 
To  some  divine  event, 

The  sweet  to  have  no  ending — 
Avaunt !  0  Discontent. 


Brave  men  and  women  all, 
How  are  we  comforted 

With  honey  out  of  gall, 
Served  with  our  daily  bread ! 


r/ 


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